


Crimson and Clover - A tale in canon

by Dontthrowsticksatme (dontthrowsticksatme)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Sectumsempra Scene | Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter's Duel in the Bathroom, Boys In Love, Canon Related, Canon Rewrite, Canon-Typical Violence, Complete, Draco Malfoy Speaks French, During Canon, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Getting Together, Heartache, Heartbreak, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Era, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, M/M, POV Harry Potter, Parseltongue, Pining, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Redemption, Romance, Secret Relationship, Sectumsempra Scars (Harry Potter), Self-Harm, Smart Draco Malfoy, draco malfoy apologises, harry potter apologises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-27
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 99,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24704719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontthrowsticksatme/pseuds/Dontthrowsticksatme
Summary: What if Harry Potter liked Draco Malfoy the first time they meet?I copied all the scenes from the Harry Potter series in which Draco Malfoy was mentioned. Then I turned some frowns upside down, made up a few logical consequences – and there you have it: Drarry’s canon (even more than it already is).
Relationships: Drarry - Relationship
Comments: 169
Kudos: 675
Collections: Fave Harry Potter, Harry Potter





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ziggy Caruso](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Ziggy+Caruso).



In the back of Madam Malkin’s shop, a boy with a pale, pointed face was standing on a footstool while a witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head and began to pin it to the right length.

‘Hullo,’ said the boy, ‘Hogwarts too?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Amazing, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’ the boy snarled.

‘All of this. I didn’t know I was a wizard, did you?’

The boy smirked. ‘Yes, all my life. My father–…’

‘All your life? That’s brilliant.’

Harry thought about what it would be like growing up knowing you’re a wizard, knowing magic is real, knowing about all the things they sold at these shops here at Diagon Alley.

The boy looked haughtily at him. ‘Yes… I suppose.’ Then he scowled. ‘Your parents, they are… _our_ kind?’

‘They were a witch and a wizard, if that’s what you mean.’

‘They _were_ -…?’

‘Where are yours?’ Harry asked quickly, before he had to start talking about the Dursleys. He didn’t feel much like going into the matter with this boy, especially when there were such a lot more interesting things he wanted to talk about. ‘Are they wizards too?’

‘Obviously!’ 

Harry almost fell off the stool by the force of the answer.

‘I’m _Draco Malfoy_.’

Harry’s jaw dropped. _Draco Malfoy_ , now _that_ was a name for a wizard. Harry Potter sounded like your average plumber, but you wouldn’t doubt for a second that somebody named _Draco Malfoy_ knew all about magic.

The boy looked tremendously dignified, as if his name should mean a lot to Harry. Harry wanted to laugh, but that would probably be considered rude, even if it would have been funny to see the boy’s face.

‘My father’s next door buying my books and mother’s up the street looking at wands,’ Draco said. He had a bored, drawling voice. ‘Then I’m going to drag them off to look at racing brooms.’

Harry laughed. The boy stared at him indignantly. ‘Racing _brooms_?’ said Harry, still grinning. ‘What are those?’

Again, the boy’s eyes widened. ‘You know nothing?’

Harry thought Draco was quite fearless, being so rude for someone his size. Harry’s cousin Dudley would have cleaned the floor with him. Harry looked Draco up and down and concluded that even he himself could have, if he’d wanted to.

‘It’s for Quidditch,’ Draco said, squinting.

‘What’s – ’

‘It's _our_ sport,’ Draco bragged. ‘Wizard sport. Everyone knows about Quidditch. It’s played up in the air on broomsticks. I’m _not_ going to explain all the rules to you right now, forget it.’

‘Have _you_ got a flying broomstick?’ asked Harry

‘Of course I have,’ the boy sneered. ‘But it’s horribly last season. I want the comet 290. It’s the best on the market right now. Not counting the Nimbusses of course, or the Firebolts.’

Racing brooms, Nimbusses, Comets, last season… Suddenly it overwhelmed Harry.

‘What’s wrong with you?’ scoffed Draco.

Not eager to admit his feelings, Harry looked out of the shop window. ‘There’s so much I don’t know yet…’

Draco snorted. ‘I’ll say.’

Harry looked up at him, but Draco didn’t actually seem to mind how little Harry knew. Actually, he appeared to be enjoying himself. ‘I can easily tell you everything, if you want.’

He tried to make it sound casual, but his nose was way up in the air. It made Harry smile. 

Draco’s eyes drifted past Harry. ‘Look at that man!’ he said, nodding towards the front window.

Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice-creams to show he couldn’t come in.

‘That’s Hagrid,’ said Harry, pleased to know something Draco didn’t. ‘He works at Hogwarts.’

‘Oh,’ said the boy, ‘I’ve heard of him. He’s a sort of servant, isn’t he?’

‘He’s the gamekeeper,’ said Harry, proud to know the proper word.

‘Yes, exactly… I heard he’s sort of _savage_ – lives in a hut in the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic and ends up setting fire to his bed.’

Harry’s mouth fell open and he burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think that’s true.’

Draco’s expression softened. It changed the entire look of his face.

‘That’s you done, my dear,’ said Madam Malkin and Harry, feeling sorry he had to stop talking to Draco Malfoy, hopped down from the footstool.

‘Well, I’ll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose,’ said the drawling boy.

Harry beamed at him. ‘Yes! See you at Hogwarts!’

How thrilling to be able to say things like that; to other _wizards_ , who had wizarding _names_.

. . .

At last, the day arrived that Harry went to Hogwarts. At the train he shared a compartment with a boy named Ron Weasley. Halfway along the way to the school, three boys entered their compartment, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin’s robe shop.

‘Hey, Draco.’ He smiled, excited to know someone already. ‘I didn’t see you at the platform.’

Draco looked down at Ron, who was glancing from Draco to Harry.

‘Oh, this is Ron,’ Harry said.

‘No need to introduce me. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles and more children than they can afford.’

Harry sniggered and turned to Ron. ‘How many children do you have then, Ron?’

Ron had been looking daggers at Draco, but Harry’s reply made him lighten up a bit.

For some reason Draco kept scowling at Ron. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry beat him to it: ‘Did you bring _bodyguards_ , Dra?’

‘Dra!’ scoffed Draco. ‘How dare you? For you I’m Mister Malfoy.’ He even sort of struck a pose.

Harry almost fell out of the chair from laughing. Draco was the most dramatic person he ever met.

‘Here, _Mister Malfoy_ , take a chocola- OUCH!’

Scabbers the rat was hanging off Harry’s finger. Malfoy backed away.

Ron leaped over to take the rat from Harry, his face as red as his hair. Harry sucked on the wound while Ron reprimanded his pet: ‘You just bit Harry Potter, you stupid animal! That’ll rub off on me!’

Harry felt the eyes of their three guests on him, and didn’t dare to look up.

‘Harry Potter?’ said Draco softly.

Harry focused all his attention on his bleeding finger, almost grateful the rat bit him. He knew what the three of them wanted, so he brushed the hair from his forehead as if it was in his eyes.

The compartment fell quiet.

Then Draco took a fresh breath. ‘These are my _friends_ Crabbe and Goyle, to answer your question. And you might want to consider changing compartments; you’ll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter.’

Harry looked up. One minute ago Draco didn’t know Harry’s name, and now he was simply ‘Potter’?

‘You don’t want to go making friends with the wrong sort,’ Draco continued. ‘I can help you there.’

He held out his hand to shake Harry's.

Harry wasn’t sure if Draco was kidding. He looked quite serious. Harry took Draco’s hand to put a chocolate frog in it. ‘You’re very rude, aren’t you?’

Draco Malfoy didn’t go red, but a pink tinge appeared in his pale cheeks. 

‘I’m staying here, thanks, but you’re welcome to join us,’ Harry said. ‘We bought way too much candy, didn’t we, Ron?’ Harry started clearing the seat next to him, when Ron kicked him in the foot.

Looking up, he saw him looking at Draco like he wanted to fight. Draco glared back in the same way.

‘I’d rather perish,’ drawled Draco. ‘See you at school, Potter.’

Before Harry could say anything else, all three of them disappeared at once.

Harry looked at Ron, confused.

‘You’ve met Malfoy before?’ asked Ron.

Harry explained about their meeting in Diagon Alley.

‘I’ve heard of his family,’ said Ron darkly. ‘They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side.’

Harry’s eyes widened. Draco’s family was on Voldemort’s side? The side that killed Harry’s parents? That couldn’t be right.

. . .

One of their very first classes at Hogwarts was Potions. It took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder there than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and he paused at Harry's name.

‘Ah, Yes,’ he said softly, ‘Harry Potter. Our new – celebrity.’

Draco Malfoy and his friends Crabbe and Goyle sniggered behind their hands. Harry turned to look at them. So far he’d only seen Draco arrogant and serious, but as soon as he saw Harry looking, Draco pretended to be a screaming fan, jazzhands and fainting and all. Harry couldn’t help but laugh.

Snape finished calling the names and paired up the class to set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. To Harry’s joy he ended up forming a duo with Draco. From the look on Snape’s face he intended it to spite Harry.

‘You’re in luck, Potter,’ said Draco. ‘I excel at Potion making.’

Harry tried not to grin.

‘I would have advised you to pair with me, if the decision weren’t made _for_ you.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ said Harry dryly. ‘I know how much you love advising me.’

Draco shot him a look, but his mouth twitched. ‘Piss off, Potter. Go fetch the ingredients. You can make yourself useful by being my assistant.’

Ron turned around in his chair to share a look with Harry, but Harry thought it was hilarious. He’d be passing this class without any trouble. All he had to do was put up with Draco Malfoy’s antics.

Meanwhile, Snape swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, criticizing almost everyone except Malfoy, whom he seemed to like.

Harry was going to ace this.

. . .

First-year Gryffindor only had Potions with Slytherin, so they didn’t have to put up with Malfoy much. Or at least, they didn’t until they spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room which made them all groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday – and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

‘Typical,’ said Harry. ‘Just what I always wanted. To make a fool of myself on a broomstick in front of Draco Malfoy.’

He had been looking forward to learning to fly more than anything else, but Draco said he’d been doing it all his life.

‘You don’t know you’ll make a fool of yourself,’ said Ron reasonably. ‘Anyway, I know Malfoy’s always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I bet that’s all talk.’

Malfoy certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first-years never getting in the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories which always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters. He didn’t even know the word for helicopters, he kept calling them ‘ridiculous flying machines’, making Harry laugh at him, which in turn made Draco even more rude. It was a vicious circle.

Draco wasn’t the only one boasting about his flying skills: the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he’d spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick, and even Ron would tell anyone who’d listen about the time he’d almost hit a hang-glider on Charlie’s old broom.

The lesson started out pretty well. Harry managed to command his broomstick to get up in his hand on the first try. After that though, things went downhill: Neville’s broom flew off with him and the poor bastard fell and broke his wrist. Madame Hooch had to bring him to the hospital wing.

No sooner were they out of earshot than Draco Malfoy burst into laughter. ‘Did you see his face, the great lump?’

The other Slytherins joined in.

Harry did see Neville’s face and it had been kind of funny, but it stopped being funny to Harry the moment Neville broke something.

‘Shut up, Malfoy,’ snapped Parvati Patil.

‘Ooh, sticking up for Longbottom?’ said Pansy Parkinson, a hard-faced Slytherin girl. ‘Never thought _you_ ’d like fat little crybabies, Parvati.’

‘Look!’ said Malfoy, darting forward and snatching something out of the grass. ‘It’s that stupid thing Longbottom’s gran sent him.’

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as he held it up.

Harry stepped forward. ‘Give that here, Draco,’ he said quietly.

Everyone stopped talking to watch.

Malfoy smiled nastily. ‘I think I’ll leave it somewhere for Longbottom to collect – how about… up a tree?’

Malfoy leapt on to his broomstick and took off. ‘Come and get it, Potter!’

Harry rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help sniggering at Draco’s jeering face. Hermione Granger slapped his arm. He stepped away from her.

‘Oh come _on_ , Malfoy! Just give it _here_!’

Draco hadn’t been lying, he _could_ fly well – hovering level with the topmost branches of an oak, he sat on that broom like it was a horse, his back straight as a line and the most haughty look on his face.

‘Scared of heights, Potter?’

That was it. Harry grabbed his broom.

‘ _No!_ ’ shouted Hermione. ‘Madam Hooch told us not to move – you’ll get us all into trouble.’

Harry ignored her. Blood was pounding in his ears. Draco Malfoy had been insufferably arrogant ever since they met. Someone needed to teach him he was not that much better than anyone else.

He mounted the broom, kicked hard against the ground and up, up he soared; air rushed through his hair, and his robes whipped out behind him – and in a rush of fierce joy he realized he'd found something he could do without being taught – this was easy, this was wonderful. He pulled his broomstick up a little to take it even higher, and heard screams and gasps of girls back on the ground and an admiring whoop from Ron.

In midair, he turned his broomstick sharply to face Malfoy.

Malfoy looked stunned – a look Harry liked on him.

‘Give it here,’ Harry called, ‘or I'll knock you off that broom!’

‘Oh, yeah?’ said Malfoy, trying to grin back defiantly at Harry, but looking worried.

Harry knew, somehow, what to do. He leaned forward and grasped the broom tightly in both hands, and it shot toward Malfoy like a javelin. Malfoy only just got out of the way in time; Harry made a sharp about-face and held the broom steady. A few people below were clapping.

‘No Crabbe and Goyle up here to save your neck, Dra,’ Harry called, grinning even wider.

‘Don’t call me Dra,’ hissed Draco through his teeth, but the same thought seemed to have struck him. ‘Catch it if you can, then!’ he shouted – and he threw the glass ball high into the air and streaked back toward the ground.

Harry saw, as though in slow motion, the ball rise up in the air and then start to fall. He leaned forward and pointed his broom handle down – next second he was gathering speed in a steep dive, racing the ball – wind whistled in his ears, mingled with the screams of people watching – he stretched out his hand –

A foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight, and he toppled gently onto the grass with the Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

‘HARRY POTTER!’

His heart sank faster than he'd just dived. Professor McGonagall was running toward them. He got to his feet, trembling.

‘Never – in all my time at Hogwarts –’

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, ‘– how dare you – might have broken your neck –’

‘It wasn't his fault, Professor –’

‘Be quiet, Miss Patil.’

‘But Malfoy –’

‘That's enough, Mr. Weasley. Potter, follow me, now.’

Harry caught sight of Draco's triumphant face as he left, walking numbly in Professor McGonagall's wake as she strode toward the castle. He was going to be expelled, he just knew it. He wanted to say something to defend himself, but there seemed to be something wrong with his voice.

For one short, glorious moment he beat Draco Malfoy at his own game – but at what cost?

. . .

Back in the great hall, Harry couldn’t believe his luck. He wasn’t kicked off school, Professor McGonagall promoted him to Quidditch player! And to top it all off Malfoy turned up, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

‘Having a last meal, Potter? When are you getting the train back to the Muggles?’

‘You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you,’ said Harry.

There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

‘I'd take you on anytime on my own,’ said Malfoy. ‘Tonight, if you want. Wizard's duel. Wands only – no contact. What's the matter? Never heard of a wizard's duel before, I suppose?’

Draco knew perfectly well he hadn’t. ‘Don’t be a jerk about it.’

‘Sorry,’ Draco drawled. ‘A wizard’s duel–…’

‘He knows what it is!’ said Ron, wheeling around. ‘I'm his second, who's yours?’

Malfoy looked indignantly at him, then he checked out Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

‘Crabbe,’ he said. ‘Midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked.’

Ron turned back to his meal, but Harry worriedly stared after Draco walking back to the Slytherin table. As if he felt his gaze, Draco looked back, saw him watching and put up both his hands in a rude gesture, pulling a silly face.

Harry, trying not to smile, let go off a breath he was holding and turned to Ron. ‘What is a wizard's duel? And what do you mean, you're my second?’

As soon as Ron started talking, Harry couldn’t get him to stop. He spent all evening giving him advice such as ‘If he tries to curse you, you'd better dodge it, because I can't remember how to block them.’

All the same, it wasn't what you'd call the perfect end to the day, Harry thought, as he lay awake much later listening to Dean and Seamus falling asleep. There was a very good chance they were going to get caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris, and Harry felt he was pushing his luck, breaking another school rule today. On the other hand, Malfoys sneering face kept looming up out of the darkness - this was his big chance to beat Malfoy face-to-face. He couldn't miss it.

‘Half-past eleven,’ Ron muttered at last, ‘we'd better go.’

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the towerroom, down the spiral staircase, and into the Gryffindor common room. A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows.

They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, ‘I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry.’

Of course it was Hermione. She chased them outside the common room, where they found Neville snoring on the floor. He woke up, but then, as if the universe was aspiring against them, the fat lady turned out to be missing from her painting, so neither Hermione nor Neville could get back into the common room. And of course they decided to come along to Harry’s wizarding duel. As if it wasn’t hard enough to sneak through the castle _without_ the loudest and the clumsiest Gryffindors.

Harry beckoned them all forward. They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. At every turn Harry expected to run into Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they were lucky. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room. 

Malfoy and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness.

They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room. Harry took out his wand in case Malfoy leapt in and started at once.

The minutes crept by.

‘He's late, maybe he's chickened out,’ Ron whispered.

Then a noise in the next room made them jump. Harry had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak – and it wasn't Malfoy.

‘Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner.’

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Horrorstruck, Harry waved madly at the other three to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. As fast as they could, they ran back to their common room.

‘Malfoy tricked you,’ Hermione said to Harry. ‘You realize that, don't you? He was never going to meet you – Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Malfoy must have tipped him off.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ scoffed Harry. ‘Why would he do that?’

‘Cause he’s a prick,’ offered Ron. ‘Or he just chickened out.’

‘Stupid git outsmarted us,’ Harry said. ‘He knew this was never going to work.’

‘You give him too much credit, Harry,’ said Ron.

. . .

The next morning, Harry tripped while getting into the Great Hall. He look round to see Draco Malfoy smirking at him.

‘Too scared after all, Potter?’ he drawled.

Ron jumped in front of Harry. ‘We were there!’ he said. ‘You chickened out!’

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. ‘Tell your weasel to stand down.’

Ron clenched his fists. ‘Let’s _go_ , Harry.’

‘Yeah, go. I’ll meet you there.’ Harry pushed Ron away, then turned back to Malfoy. ‘Did you trick us? Hermione says you told on Filch.’

Draco scowled. ‘I assumed _you_ told on Filch. We couldn’t even get near the stupid trophy room, that buffoon was _everywhere_. It took _forever_ to get back without being caught. It was honestly _such_ a _drag_.’

Harry agreed. ‘We almost got caught as well.’

Malfoy looked away, brooding. ‘I should’ve tipped Filch off…’

Harry grinned. ‘It would have been the Slytherin thing to do.’

Draco smirked. ‘Yes. Tell Weasley I did that.’

. . .

Because they broke the rules last night, Hermione was refusing to speak to Harry and Ron, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that they saw this as an added bonus

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Harry was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

‘DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll all want one. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session. Professor McGonagall.’

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as he handed the note to Ron to read.

‘A Nimbus Two Thousand!’ Ron moaned enviously. ‘I've never even touched one.’

Harry remembered Draco talking about it, saying it was even better than the Comet 290 he’d wanted.

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy seized the package from Harry and felt it.

‘That's a broomstick,’ he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and spite on his face. ‘You'll be in for it this time, Potter, first years aren't allowed them.’

Ron couldn't resist it. ‘It's not any old broomstick,’ he said, ‘it's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What did you say you've got at home, Malfoy, a Comet Two Sixty?’ Ron grinned at Harry. ‘Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus.’

‘What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle,’ Malfoy snapped back. ‘I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig.’

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Malfoy's elbow. ‘Not arguing, I hope, boys?’ he squeaked.

‘Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor,’ said Malfoy quickly.

‘Yes, yes, that's right,’ said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. ‘Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?’

‘A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir,’ said Harry, fighting not to laugh at the look of horror on Malfoy's face. ‘And it's really thanks to Malfoy here that I've got it,’ he added.

Harry let Ron carry the broom, just so he could make a rude gesture to Malfoy, pulling a silly face. Without missing a beat, Malfoy one-upped him by pretending to scratch his own eyeballs out in envy. Harry couldn’t stop laughing.

He and Ron headed upstairs. ‘If Draco hadn't stolen Neville's Remembrall I wouldn't be on the team,’ said Harry, still smiling.

. . .

Hermione had started drawing up study schedules and color-coding all her notes.

‘I should have started studying a month ago, I don't know what's gotten into me....’

Harry and Ron wouldn't have minded, but she kept nagging them to do the same, and it was hard to relax with Hermione next to you reciting the twelve uses of dragon's blood or practicing wand movements.

Moaning and yawning, Harry and Ron spent most of their free time in the library with her, trying to get through all their extra work.

Harry, who was looking up ‘Dittany’ in One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, heard someone whisper, ‘The usual?’, and he peeked over his shoulder. Malfoy was leaving the library.

Ron seemed to be nodding off on top of his books and Hermione was feverishly copying something from _Aquatic Wonders of Yorkshire_.

‘Be right back,’ Harry whispered and pretended to casually stroll away. When he was out of sight he started running, almost bumping into Malfoy when he rounded the corner.

‘Hey, Draco.’

His sudden appearance made Malfoy jump. ‘Potter!’

‘Where are you going?’ Harry tried to sound nonchalant, but he was panting.

At once, Draco’s eyes started glowing maliciously. ‘You’ll see.’

‘Oh, why are you like that?’

‘I’m not just going to blurt out all the castle’s secrets to the first celebrity who asks me where I’m going.’

‘How do you know the castle’s secrets?’

‘Honestly Potter, have you heard of books?’

‘You sound like Hermione.’

Draco wrinkled his nose.

‘She’s always talking about _Hogwarts: A History_ ,’ said Harry.

Draco let out a dramatic sigh. ‘Oh, is nothing sacred anymore?’

Harry sniggered.

They were descending one of the moving stairs, and had to wait until it stopped moving before they could walk on.

‘Do you have permission to be on your own?’ asked Draco.

‘I escaped,' he said dryly. 'Why aren’t _you_ studying?’

‘I already know everything. I’ve got such high grades, Potter, you can only dream of my brilliance.’

‘Oh, I do.’

Harry caught Malfoy smiling, whether he wanted to or not.

Meanwhile they seemed to be descending every staircase in the castle.

‘Pansy’s sister went here,’ Draco admitted. ‘She told Pansy all the good things. _Hogwarts: A History_ ’s got nothing on the Parkinsons. Tell your Mudblood friend that.’

‘Didn’t know you were in love with her.’

‘Ew, don’t be gross, Potter. The Parkinsons are my cousins, or feels like it anyway.’

‘Is it–…?’

Suddenly Draco had disappeared. Harry looked around.

‘Huh? Draco?’

Draco, appearing from behind a tapestry, tugged on his elbow. ‘Keep _up_ , Potter.’

‘Come on now, Mister Malfoy, where are we going?’

‘Not telling. What’s your favourite food?’

‘My _favourite food_?’ Harry repeated. ‘I don’t know. I like not being hungry.’

Draco looked aside to him. ‘ _Hungry_? What are you talking about?’

‘Why are we so far away from the library, Dra?’

‘I didn’t force you to follow me.’

Didn’t he? It didn’t feel like he was here voluntarily either to Harry.

Harry held onto Draco’s cloak to force him to slow down..

‘Tell me something cool,’ Harry said, shoving his hands in his pockets. ‘Something I don’t know.’

‘So anything at all then?’ Draco sneered, adopting Harry’s strolling pace.

‘Yes,’ said Harry.

In a heartbeat, Draco went off on a massive monologue about vampires. He seemed to believe they were real, and since magic and wizards and merpeople were real, Harry didn’t think vampires were so far-fetched anymore either. He didn’t dare ask if Draco was messing with him. He just let him talk.

Draco seemed very excited about vampires. His voice got less drawling the longer he talked, and Harry liked hearing the ups and downs of it. Draco’s voice reminded Harry of flying a kite: hanging still in the breeze, but making all kinds of shapes and unexpected turns in a storm. Harry resolved to make it storm more often.

‘Here we are,’ Malfoy interrupted himself all of a sudden and he pounded at a small wooden door.

‘Where–…?’

A weird little creature opened the door, silencing Harry at once. It had large, bat-like ears and bulging eyes the size of tennis balls.

‘Can I get a chocolate milkshake, three muffins and an apple?’ Draco looked at Harry. ‘What do you want, Potter?’

Harry’s mind went blank. Draco made it look like this was as natural as brushing your teeth. Could they just… just ask for food? Any food? And then what? They would _get_ it? Right away?

‘Er, what–… What can I choose from?’

Draco shrugged. ‘Doesn’t matter. They can make whatever you like.’

Harry thought feverishly. ‘Oh, I don’t know… I don’t need anything.’

Draco leaned at the doorpost, watching him. ‘None of us _need_ anything. What would you like to eat, Harry?’

Harry stared at him. Could he really…?

‘Tell her.’ Draco nodded at the creature in the door. ‘She loves to hear what you want.’

The creature really did look excited, as if it would like nothing more than to give Harry what he wanted.

Suddenly a faint memory popped into Harry’s head. ‘Er, speculoos,’ Harry said.

Draco’s eyebrows flew up, but for the first time since Harry knew him, he had nothing to comment.

The creature returned with their ‘order’ in the blink of an eye.

Malfoy put the apple in his mouth, stuffed the milkshake and muffins in his pockets and swaggered off. Harry trailed after him, savouring his cookie.

He hardly noticed Draco side-eying him. ‘Good?’ he asked him after a while.

‘Very good,’ said Harry. ‘My cousin Dudley got this once. It is as nice as it smelled.’

Harry broke it in half and held the other part out for Draco. Using his wand, Draco cut the apple in half, so they switched, and the combination made it even better. Draco’s green apple was a weird, but nice addition to the sweet, spicy speculoos.

‘Not bad,’ said Draco, after carefully chewing and swallowing.

By the time they reached the library, the apple and the speculoos were all gone. Harry quietly rejoined Ron and Hermione, while Malfoy was greeted by his friends like he was Father Christmas.

. . .

When they left the dungeons one day at the end of Potions, they found a large fir tree blocking the corridor ahead. Two enormous feet sticking out at the bottom and a loud puffing sound told them that Hagrid was behind it.

‘Hi, Hagrid, want any help?’ Ron asked, sticking his head through the branches.

‘Nah, I'm all right, thanks, Ron.’

‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’ came Malfoys cold drawl from behind them.

Harry burst out laughing. ‘Could you be more of a brat, Dra?’

‘Oh, hey Potter…’ Draco’s cold eyes fell on Ron, trying to help Hagrid. ‘Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose – that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to.’

‘Blimey, Malfoy, do you _have_ to?’ Harry yelled while Ron dived at Malfoy, just as Snape came up the stairs.

‘WEASLEY!’

Ron let go of the front of Malfoy's robes.

‘He was provoked, Professor Snape,’ said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. ‘Malfoy was insultin' his family.’

‘Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid,’ said Snape silkily. ‘Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you.’

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past the tree, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.

‘I'll get him,’ said Ron, grinding his teeth at Malfoy's back, ‘one of these days, I'll get him –’

‘He’s so mean to you,’ said Harry. ‘I don’t understand him.’

‘He’s mean to everyone, Harry, nobody understands _you_.’

‘He’s just messing…’ Harry mumbled, looking over his shoulder to watch Draco swaggering out of the door. ‘It’s just words. Malfoy wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

If Ron had known Dudley he would understand what Harry meant. All the Gryffindors would’ve been kicked and beaten every day if Draco had been anything like Dudley. With Malfoy, Harry felt perfectly safe.

. . .

That night Neville toppled into the common room. How he had managed to climb through the portrait hole was anyone's guess, because his legs had been stuck together with what they recognized at once as the Leg-Locker Curse. He must have had to bunny hop all the way up to Gryffindor tower.

Everyone fell over laughing. Harry came closer to inspect the Leg-Locker curse. ‘That’s impressive, Nev, how did you do that?’

‘I didn’t, it was Malfoy,’ said Neville shakily.

Harry looked up in surprise, and suddenly he was the only one left laughing. He looked round at Ron and Hermione, who’s faces had clouded over.

‘It’s just…’ Harry mumbled, ‘impressive…’

Hermione leapt up and performed the counter curse. Neville's legs sprang apart and he got to his feet, trembling. ‘What happened?’ Hermione asked him.

‘I met him outside the library. He said he'd been looking for someone to practice that on.’

‘Go to Professor McGonagall!’ Hermione urged Neville. ‘Report him!’

Neville shook his head. ‘I don't want more trouble,’ he mumbled.

‘You've got to stand up to him, Neville!’ said Ron. ‘He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down in front of him and make it easier.’

‘There's no need to tell me I'm not brave enough to be in Gryffindor, Malfoy's already done that,’ Neville choked out.

‘He said that?’ Harry asked.

‘He’s not so great as you think, Harry,’ said Ron.

Harry shot him a look, felt in the pocket of his robes and pulled out a Chocolate Frog, the very last one from the box Hermione had given him for Christmas. He gave it to Neville, who looked as though he might cry.

‘What does Draco Malfoy know about being _brave_?’ Harry said. ‘He’s in stinking Slytherin.’

. . .

‘Hermione, how many times in our lives are we going to see a dragon hatching?’

It was a question you could only hear at Hogwarts, after befriending an animal loving half-giant.

‘We've got lessons,’ Hermione said. ‘We'll get into trouble, and that's nothing to what Hagrid's going to be in when someone finds out what he's doing –’

‘Shut up!’ Harry whispered.

Malfoy was only a few feet away and he had stopped dead to listen. How much had he heard? Harry didn't like the look on Malfoy's face at all.

They spent most of their free time in Hagrid's darkened hut, trying to reason with him.

‘Just let him go,’ Harry urged. ‘Set him free.’

‘I can't,’ said Hagrid. ‘He's too little. He'd die.’

‘Hagrid,’ said Hermione, ‘how fast do Norwegian Ridgebacks grow, exactly?’

Hagrid was about to answer when the color suddenly drained from his face – he leapt to his feet and ran to the window.

‘What's the matter?’

‘Someone was lookin' through the gap in the curtains – it's a kid – he's runnin' back up ter the school.’

Harry bolted to the door and looked out. Even at a distance there was no mistaking him.

Malfoy had seen the dragon.

Something about the smile lurking on Malfoy's face during the next week made Harry, Ron, and Hermione very nervous. At some point during Potions, Harry leaned over to him.

‘I know you know.’

‘You know I know what?’ said Draco, smirking even broader.

Harry frowned. ‘What are you up to, Malfoy?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Sighing, Harry shoved his chair closer to Draco’s. ‘Please don’t tell anyone.’

Draco put down his knife. ‘First of all: how _dare_ you, second: you don’t know how _dangerous_ it is what you’re doing, because honestly, so far you haven’t known anything at all. Third: my name literally means dragon. If anyone gets to see a dragon it should be _me._ I know way more about them than you!’

All this was whispered with an intensity that Harry felt on his face.

Harry’s eyes had widened. ‘By all means, take my place dealing with the dragon. It’s yours!’

‘I don’t want to _deal_ with it. I want to _see_ it.’

Draco hadn’t looked at Harry once during this conversation. Even now he just resumed cutting the caterpillars.

Harry watched Draco’s lean fingers, and started smiling. ‘You know, you could’ve just asked.’

‘I’d rather _die_ ,’ snarled Draco, ‘than ask _you_ anything, Potter.’ 

A strange urge to touch his friend overtook Harry. For just a split-second he rested his forehead on Draco’s shoulder, laughing.

‘Meet us in the astronomy tower when we get him out. You can see him then.’

. . .

‘Nearly there!’ Harry panted as they reached the corridor beneath the tallest tower. Then a sudden movement ahead of them made them almost drop the crate. Forgetting that they were already invisible, they shrank into the shadows, staring at the dark outlines of two people grappling with each other ten feet away. A lamp flared.

Professor McGonagall, in a tartan bathrobe and a hair net, had Malfoy by the ear.

‘Detention!’ she shouted. ‘And twenty points from Slytherin! Wandering around in the middle of the night, how dare you –’

Harry’s heart fell. It had been Harry’s idea to get Malfoy here. He should have thought this through. He should’ve picked him up with the invisibility cloak or anything – he had completely forgotten. 

‘You don't understand, Professor. Harry Potter's coming – he's got a dragon!’

‘What utter rubbish! How dare you tell such lies! Come on – I shall see Professor Snape about you, Malfoy!’

Poor Draco, thought Harry. It wasn’t his fault. Not this time.

Not until they'd stepped out into the cold night air did they throw off the cloak, glad to be able to breathe properly again. Hermione did a sort of jig.

‘Malfoy's got detention! I could sing!’

‘Don't,’ Harry advised her. He tried not to show how bad he felt, afraid Hermione would make him tell about his plan and the way he neglected to care about Malfoy.

They waited, Norbert thrashing about in his crate. About ten minutes later, four broomsticks came swooping down out of the darkness to take away their dragon.

. . .

The next day, McGonagall was furious. She believed Harry told ‘some cock-and-bull story’ about a dragon, trying to get Malfoy out of bed at night. Neville had been caught roaming the castle too: he wanted to warn Harry and Hermione about Malfoy wanting to bust them. They all ended up getting detention: Harry, Hermione, Neville and Malfoy. Harry tried not to show his guilt, but knew it was obvious from his face. He didn’t look at Neville or - especially - Draco for the rest of the day.

At eleven o'clock that night, Harry and Hermione said goodbye to Ron in the common room and went down to the entrance hall with Neville. Filch was already there, and so was Draco Malfoy.

‘Follow me,’ said Filch, lighting a lamp and leading them outside.

The moon was bright, but clouds scudding across it kept throwing them into darkness. Ahead, Harry could see the lighted windows of Hagrid's hut. Then they heard a distant shout.

‘Is that you, Filch? Hurry up, I want ter get started.’

Harry's heart rose; if they were going to be working with Hagrid it wouldn't be so bad. His relief must have showed in his face, because Filch said, ‘I suppose you think you'll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy – it's into the forest you're going and I'm much mistaken if you'll all come out in one piece.’

At this, Neville let out a little moan, and Malfoy stopped dead in his tracks.

‘The forest?’ he repeated, and he didn't sound quite as cool as usual. ‘We can't go in there at night – there's all sorts of things in there.’

Harry’s stomach turned at the sound of Draco’s fright. What did he know that Harry didn’t? What could happen to them in that forest that scared Draco Malfoy? Without noticing, Harry had shuffled closer to him.

‘I'll be back at dawn,’ said Filch, ‘for what's left of them,’ he added nastily, and he turned and started back toward the castle, his lamp bobbing away in the darkness.

Malfoy now turned to Hagrid. ‘I'm not going in that forest,’ he said, and Harry wasn’t too pleased to hear the note of panic in his voice.

‘Yeh are if yeh want ter stay at Hogwarts,’ said Hagrid fiercely. ‘Yeh've done wrong an' now yeh’ve got ter pay fer it.’

‘But this is servant stuff, it's not for students to do.’

Harry snorted in spite of his fear. ‘Prick.’

Draco shot him a look. ‘This is _your_ fault, Potter.’

Harry flinched. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I thought we'd be copying lines or something…’

‘Copyin' lines!’ Hagrid growled. ‘What good's that ter anyone? Yeh'll do summat useful or Yeh'll get out.’

Malfoy didn't move. He looked at Hagrid furiously, but then dropped his gaze.

‘Right then,’ said Hagrid, ‘now, listen carefully, 'cause it's dangerous what we're gonna do tonight, an' I don' want no one takin' risks. Follow me over here a moment.’

Hagrid showed them something in the grass. It was unicorn blood, he said. ‘We're gonna try an' find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.’

‘And what if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?’ said Malfoy, unable to keep the fear out of his voice.

‘There's nothin' that lives in the forest that'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang,’ said Hagrid. ‘An' keep ter the path. Right, now, we're gonna split inter two parties an' follow the trail in diff'rent directions. There's blood all over the place, it must've bin staggerin' around since last night at least.’

‘I want Fang,’ said Malfoy quickly, looking at Fang's long teeth.

‘All right, but I warn yeh, he's a coward,’ said Hagrid. ‘ So me, Harry, an' Hermione'll go one way an' Draco, Neville, an' Fang'll go the other.’

‘I’m not going with _him_ ,’ squeaked Neville and even Hermione shuffled behind Hagrid.

Hagrid looked around at their little group, stunned. Draco looked furious.

Harry didn’t notice any of that. He was petting Fang. ‘Let’s do this, Dra.’

The forest was black and silent. A little way into it they reached a fork in the earth path, and Harry, Draco and Fang took the right path while Hermione, Neville and Hagrid took the left.

So Harry set off into the heart of the forest with Malfoy and Fang.

‘How do you think we should do this?’ he asked, after a few minutes of silence.

There was no reply.

Harry looked around. ‘Dra? Draco?’

He and Fang were alone.

Panic started to creep up on him. When did he lose Draco? What happened?

He spun around again, a chill running up his spine.

This was bad. He grabbed his wand, prepared for anything, when suddenly—

‘BAAA!’

Something grabbed Harry’s shoulders. He turned at once, wand at the ready – and stared straight into Draco Malfoy’s laughing face.

He never felt so relieved, and he burst out laughing. ‘You prick!’

Draco couldn’t breathe from laughing. ‘You should’ve seen your face!’

‘I thought the werewolves got you!’

‘Oh, they easily could have,’ said Draco, now swaggering ahead of Harry through the forest as if he owned the place. As if he wasn’t scared senseless just minutes ago. ‘It’s positively irresponsible to send kids alone out here. If my father hears about this…’

Harry sighed. ‘This father of yours sounds like a force to be reckoned with.’

‘Darn right,’ mumbled Draco.

They walked for nearly half an hour, deeper and deeper into the forest, until the path became almost impossible to follow because the trees were so thick. Harry thought the blood on the earth path seemed to be getting thicker. There were splashes on the roots of a tree, as though the poor creature had been thrashing around in pain close by. Harry could see a clearing ahead, through the tangled branches of an ancient oak.

‘Look –’ he murmured, holding out his arm to stop Malfoy.

Something bright white was gleaming on the ground. They inched closer.

It was the unicorn all right, and it was dead. Harry had never seen anything so beautiful and sad. Its long, slender legs were stuck out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread pearly-white on the dark leaves.

Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clearing quivered....

Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came crawling across the ground like some stalking beast.

Harry, Malfoy, and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn, lowered its head over the wound in the animal's side, and began to drink its blood.

Harry heard Draco gasping for air and in a reflex, he covered the boy’s mouth, muffling his scream.

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm, trying to get him to run, but Harry couldn’t move for fear. Draco’s hand slipped as he bolted, along with Fang, but Harry stared, fixated, at the hooded figure.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw bright red lights. Then a pain like he'd never felt before pierced his head; it was as though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward. He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped clean over Harry, charging at the figure.

The pain in Harry's head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had gone. A centaur was standing over him, he had white-blond hair and a palomino body.

‘Are you all right?’ said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.

‘Yes – thank you – what was that?’

The centaur didn't answer.

‘Harry! Harry, are you all right?’

Hermione was running toward them down the path, Hagrid puffing along behind her. Following at his heel, was a very timid looking Draco Malfoy. Harry felt relieved to see him unharmed.

‘I'm fine,’ said Harry, hardly knowing what he was saying. ‘But the unicorn's dead, Hagrid.’

‘You are safe now,’ the centaur said as Hagrid hurried off to examine the unicorn. He turned and cantered back into the depths of the forest, leaving Harry shivering behind. Hermione hugged Harry, then dashed off to look at the unicorn too.

Draco seemed to inspect the surroundings before he swaggered over to Harry. ‘You alright, Potter?’

‘Yeah…’ Harry felt embarrassed about the way he froze when they saw the hooded figure. ‘You?’

‘I thought you were right behind me,’ mumbled Draco, apparently equally embarrassed as Harry.

Harry ruffled through his hair. ‘I er… I froze a bit. Thanks for firing the red sparks.’

Draco smirked. ‘I thought Gryffindors were supposed to be brave?’

Harry leaned close to Draco and whispered: ‘We made that up.’

From that moment on, Draco Malfoy became his friend. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and finding a hooded figure in the middle of the Forbidden Forest, drinking a unicorn’s blood, is one of them.


	2. Chapter 2

‘Happy birthday to me… happy birthday to me… ’

No cards, no presents, and he would be spending the evening pretending not to exist. Harry had never felt so lonely. More than anything else at Hogwarts, more even than playing Quidditch, Harry missed his best friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. They, however, didn’t seem to be missing him at all. Neither of them had written to him all summer, even though Ron had said he was going to ask Harry to come and stay.

The long silence from Ron and Hermione had made Harry feel so cut off from the magical world that even taunting Dudley had lost its appeal – and now Ron and Hermione had forgotten his birthday.

What wouldn’t he give now for a message from Hogwarts? From any witch or wizard? He’d almost be glad of a sight of Draco Malfoy flipping him off, just to be sure it hadn’t all been a dream…

. . .

Harry got more than he wished for when Dobby the house elf turned up and wreaked havoc on the Dursleys with a violet pudding. He warned Harry not to go back to Hogwarts while hitting himself furiously over the head with every object he could find. In revenge, the Dursleys had locked Harry up in his room. They even installed bars on his window.

But none of the bars in the world could’ve kept the Weasleys out, and before Harry knew it, he was safe and sound at The Burrow.

‘I reckon old Dobby was sent to stop you coming back to Hogwarts,' said Fred. 'Someone’s idea of a joke. Can you think of anyone at school with a grudge against you?’

‘Yes,’ said Harry and Ron together, instantly.

‘Draco Malfoy,’ Harry explained. ‘He likes jokes.’

‘Draco Malfoy?’ said George, turning around at the kitchen table at the Burrow. ‘Not Lucius Malfoy’s son?’

‘Must be, it’s not a very common name, is it?’ said Harry. ‘Why?’

‘I’ve heard Dad talking about him,’ said George. ‘He was a big supporter of You-Know-Who.’

‘And when You-Know-Who disappeared,’ said Fred, craning around to look at Harry, ‘Lucius Malfoy came back saying he’d never meant any of it. Load of dung – Dad reckons he was right in You-Know-Who’s inner circle.’

Harry had heard these rumors about Malfoy’s family before, and didn’t know what to think about them. The Malfoys and the Weasleys seemed to be in some sort of family feud, but Harry knew Draco wouldn’t hurt a fly, surely.

‘I don’t know whether the Malfoys own a house-elf…’ said Harry.

‘Well, whoever owns him will be an old Wizarding family, and they’ll be rich,’ said Fred.

‘Yeah, Mum’s always wishing we had a house-elf to do the ironing,’ said George. ‘But all we’ve got is a lousy old ghoul in the attic and gnomes all over the garden. House-elves come with big old manors and castles and places like that; you wouldn’t catch one in our house....’

Harry was silent. Judging by the fact that Draco Malfoy usually had the best of everything, his family was rolling in wizard gold; he could just see Malfoy strutting around a large manor house. Sending the family servant to stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts also sounded exactly like the sort of thing Malfoy would do. Had Harry been stupid to take Dobby seriously? Would Draco be laughing at him in his ancient mansion right now?

. . .

The Weasleys took Harry with them to get their school supplies at Diagon Alley. For some reason, they traveled through a fireplace – and of course everyone managed to get to the right shop except Harry. He ended up face forward, onto a cold stone floor.

Dizzy and bruised, covered in soot, he got gingerly to his feet, holding his broken glasses up to his eyes. He was quite alone, but where he was, he had no idea. All he could tell was that he was standing in the stone fireplace of what looked like a large, dimly lit wizard’s shop – but nothing in here was ever likely to be on a Hogwarts school list. Even worse, the dark, narrow street Harry could see through the dusty shop window was definitely not Diagon Alley.

The sooner he got out of here, the better.

Nose still stinging where it had hit the hearth, Harry made his way swiftly and silently toward the door, but before he’d got halfway toward it, two people appeared on the other side of the glass – and one of them was the very last person Harry wanted to meet when he was covered in soot, and wearing broken glasses: Draco Malfoy.

Harry looked quickly around and spotted a large black cabinet to his left; he shot inside it and pulled the doors closed, leaving a small crack to peer through.

Seconds later, a bell clanged, and Malfoy stepped into the shop. The man who followed could only be Draco’s father. He had the same pale, pointed face and identical cold, gray eyes.

Mr. Malfoy crossed the shop, looking lazily at the items on display, and rang a bell on the counter before turning to his son and saying, ‘Touch nothing, Draco.’

Malfoy, who had reached for the glass eye, said, ‘I thought you were going to buy me a present.’

‘I said I would buy you a racing broom,’ said his father, drumming his fingers on the counter.

‘What’s the good of that if I’m not on the House team?’ said Malfoy, looking sulky and bad-tempered. ‘Harry Potter got a Nimbus Two Thousand last year.’

Harry’s heart jolted at the sound of his name.

‘Special permission from Dumbledore so he could play for Gryffindor. He’s not even that good, it’s just because he’s famous… famous for having a stupid scar on his forehead… ’

Malfoy bent down to examine a shelf full of skulls.

‘… everyone thinks he’s so smart, wonderful Potter with his scar and his broomstick – ’

‘You have told me this at least a dozen times already,’ said Mr. Malfoy, with a quelling look at his son.

Harry’s mouth fell open. Draco Malfoy had been talking a dozen times about Harry being smart and wonderful? During his summer vacation?

‘And I would remind you,’ Lucius Malfoy went on, ‘that it is not – prudent – to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear – ah, Mr. Borgin.’

A stooping man had appeared behind the counter, smoothing his greasy hair back from his face.

‘Mr. Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again,’ said Mr. Borgin in a voice as oily as his hair.

The two of them started talking about selling and buying. Harry couldn’t focus on them very well while Draco was walking around. Harry thought he looked smart in his tailormade weekend clothes: soft, dark grey trousers and a dusty blue sweater.

‘Can I have that?’ he interrupted his dad, pointing at a withered hand on a cushion.

‘Ah, the Hand of Glory!’ said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy’s and scurrying over to Draco. ‘Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.’

Harry agreed. He wanted one too.

‘I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin,’ said Mr. Malfoy coldly, and Mr. Borgin said quickly, ‘No offense, sir, no offense meant – ’

‘Though if his grades don’t pick up,’ said Mr. Malfoy, more coldly still, ‘that may indeed be all he is fit for – ’

That was uncalled for, thought Harry. Draco was top of all classes, right after Hermione.

‘It’s not my fault,’ retorted Draco. ‘The teachers all have favorites. That Hermione Granger – ’

‘I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl of no wizard family beat you in every exam,’ snapped Mr. Malfoy.

Harry gasped. He didn’t like how Mr. Malfoy managed to insult both Hermione and Draco in one sentence.

Draco looked abashed and angry. Harry wanted to say something, stick up for his friend, but he was hiding in a closet, spying on them, while covered in soot.

Harry watched nervously as Draco drew nearer and nearer to his hiding place, examining the objects for sale. His hair appeared even more silver than the year before, Harry observed, his heart pumping in his chest. It almost matched the gray of his eyes. Especially the gray-blue sweater made Harry back away as far as he could inside the close. Harry felt absolutely disgusting in contrast.

Draco paused to examine a long coil of hangman’s rope and to read, smirking, the card propped on a magnificent necklace of opals. His smirk was definitely the same as last year.

Draco turned away and saw the cabinet right in front of him. The cabinet where sooted, sweaty, lurking Harry was in. How could he ever explain why he was in there, spying on them?

Draco walked forward – he stretched out his hand for the handle. Harry couldn’t breathe.

‘Done,’ said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. ‘Come, Draco – ’

Harry wiped his forehead on his sleeve as Draco turned away.

‘Goodday to you, Mr. Borgin. I’ll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.’

The moment the door had closed, Mr. Borgin dropped his oily manner.

‘Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven’t sold me half of what’s hidden in your manor… ’

Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a backroom. Harry waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, slipped out of the cabinet, past the glass cases, and out of the shop door.

At last Harry found his way back to the Weasleys. He explained to them where he’d been and what he saw. The Weasleys weren’t too happy about what Mr. Malfoy had been doing at Borgin’s shop. Mr. Weasley wanted to know all the details. Harry had to wreck his brain for it, he could only remember Draco.

‘Oh, I’d love to get Lucius Malfoy for something…’ Mr. Weasley said.

‘You be careful, Arthur,’ said Mrs. Weasley sharply. ‘That family’s trouble. Don’t go biting off more than you can chew – ’

. . .

They headed for Flourish and Blotts, and were by no means the only ones making their way to the bookshop. As they approached it, they saw to their surprise a large crowd jostling outside the doors, trying to get in. The reason for this was proclaimed by a large banner stretched across the upper windows: “GILDEROY LOCKHART will be signing copies of his autobiography.”

What happened inside horrified Harry: the store was packed with people, but somehow this Lockhart-person managed to spot Harry – and he recognized him at once. He leapt to his feet and positively shouted, ‘It can’t be Harry Potter?’

The crowd parted, whispering excitedly; Lockhart dived forward, seized Harry’s arm, and pulled him to the front. The crowd burst into applause.

Harry’s face burned as Lockhart shook his hand for the photographer, who was clicking away madly, wafting thick smoke over the Weasleys.

Lockhart even made a speech about how happy Harry was going to be, because apparently this lunatic was going to teach at Hogwarts. Harry’d never even seen the guy.

The crowd cheered and clapped and Harry found himself being presented with the entire works of Gilderoy Lockhart. Staggering slightly under their weight, he managed to make his way out of the limelight to the edge of the room, where Ginny was standing next to her new cauldron.

‘You have these,’ Harry mumbled to her, tipping the books into the cauldron. ‘I’ll buy my own – ’

‘Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?’ said a voice Harry had no trouble recognizing.

Quickly, he straightened up and found himself face-to-face with Draco Malfoy, who was wearing his usual sneer.

Harry felt an automatic smile appearing on his face. ‘Hey, Dra.’

‘Famous Harry Potter,’ said Malfoy, slouching against a bookcase. ‘Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page.’

Too bad for Draco, Harry now knew exactly how Draco really felt about him: smart and wonderful and worth talking about a dozen times when Harry wasn’t even around.

Somehow, Harry found himself leaning against the same bookcase, staring at Draco Malfoy’s sneer. ‘You know how it is.’ He sighed.

‘Leave him alone, he didn’t want all that!’ said Ginny.

Startled, Harry jumped to his feet again. It was the first time she had spoken in front of Harry. She was glaring at Malfoy.

‘Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!’ drawled Malfoy.

Ginny went scarlet as Ron and Hermione fought their way over, both clutching stacks of Lockhart’s books.

‘Oh, it’s you,’ said Ron, looking at Malfoy as if he were something unpleasant on the sole of his shoe. ‘Bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?’

It took Harry a second to remember why Ron said that: it was because of the house-elf Draco supposedly sent him.

‘Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley,’ retorted Malfoy without missing a beat. ‘I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for all those.’

‘Dra…’ Harry sighed. ‘Don’t.’

Ron went as red as Ginny. He dropped his books into the cauldron, too, and started toward Malfoy, but Hermione grabbed the back of his jacket and Harry stepped in front of him.

‘Ron, stop, he’s just messing.’

‘Ron!’ said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. ‘What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.’

‘Well, well, well – Arthur Weasley.’

It was Mr. Malfoy. He was suddenly towering over Draco with his hand on Draco’s shoulder, sneering in just the same way.

‘Lucius,’ said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly.

‘Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,’ said Mr. Malfoy. ‘All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?’

He reached into Ginny’s cauldron and extracted, from amid the glossy Lockhart books, a very old, very battered copy of A Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration.

‘Obviously not,’ Mr. Malfoy said. ‘Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?’

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny.

‘We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizards, Malfoy,’ he said.

‘Clearly,’ said Mr. Malfoy, his pale eyes straying to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were watching apprehensively. ‘The company you keep, Weasley… and I thought your family could sink no lower.’

There was a thud of metal as Ginny’s cauldron went flying; Mr. Weasley had thrown himself at Mr. Malfoy, knocking him backward into a bookshelf. Dozens of heavy spell books came thundering down on all their heads; there was a yell of, ‘Get him, Dad!’ from Fred or George; Mrs. Weasley was shrieking.

‘What’s happening?’ Harry mumbled, looking confused at the two dads rolling on the floor.

To his side, Draco was looking mortified, pushing his back into the bookshelves as if he wanted to disappear in them. At Harry’s words he started, trying to look dignified, but Harry saw the pink tinge in his pale cheeks.

‘Now you see it with your own eyes, Potter: the bad influence of the Weasleys. My father would normally never do this.’

Harry grinned.

‘No, Arthur, no!’ The crowd stampeded backward, knocking more shelves over.

‘Gentlemen, please – please!’ cried the assistant, and then, louder than all –

‘Break it up, there, gents, break it up – ’

Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools.

Draco covered his face with one hand, sharing a horrified look with Harry.

Mr. Malfoy was still holding Ginny’s old Transfiguration book. He thrust it at her, his eyes glittering with malice. ‘Here, girl – take your book – it’s the best your father can give you – ’ Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip he beckoned to Draco and swept from the shop.

‘Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,’ said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes.

‘Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that – no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter – bad blood, that’s what it is – come on now – let’s get out ta here.’

Harry felt tired. The Malfoys and the Weasleys really did have a family feud, and Harry found himself smack in the middle of it.

. . .

The year didn’t improve much as they got back to school. As if having that buffoon Gilderoy Lockhart as a teacher wasn’t bad enough, Harry got himself a fan too.

One day after lunch, Harry and Ron went outside into the overcast courtyard. Hermione sat down on a stone step and buried her nose in _Voyages with Vampires_. Harry and Ron stood talking about Quidditch for several minutes before Harry became aware that he was being closely watched. Looking up, he saw the very small, mousy-haired boy he’d seen trying on the Sorting Hat last night staring at Harry as though transfixed. He was clutching what looked like an ordinary Muggle camera, and the moment Harry looked at him, he went bright red.

‘Allright, Harry? I’m – I’m Colin Creevey,’ he said breathlessly, taking a tentative step forward. ‘I’m in Gryffindor, too. D’you think – would it be all right if – can I have a picture?’ he said, raising the camera hopefully.

‘A picture?’ Harry repeated blankly.

‘So I can prove I’ve met you,’ said Colin Creevey eagerly, edging further forward. ‘I’m taking loads of pictures to send home to my dad. And it’d be really good if I had one of you’ – he looked imploringly at Harry – ‘maybe your friend could take it and I could stand next to you? And then, could you sign it?’

‘Signed photos? You’re giving out signed photos, Potter?’

Loud and scathing, Draco Malfoy’s voice echoed around the courtyard.

Harry groaned. Malfoy could always be trusted to witness Harry’s most embarrassing moments.

He had stopped right behind Colin, flanked, as he always was at Hogwarts, by his large and thuggish cronies, Crabbe and Goyle.

‘Everyone line up!’ Malfoy roared to the crowd. ‘Harry Potter’s giving out signed photos!’

Harry dragged down Malfoy’s arms and tried his best not to laugh, as it would only encourage him. ‘Shut up, Malfoy!’

‘You’re just jealous,’ piped up Colin, whose entire body was about as thick as Crabbe’s neck.

‘Jealous?’ said Malfoy, who didn’t need to shout anymore: half the courtyard was listening in. ‘Of what? I don’t want a foul scar right across my head, thanks. I don’t think getting your head cut open makes you that special, myself.’

To be fair, Harry couldn’t disagree with him. There was nothing special about Harry or his scar.

Crabbe and Goyle were sniggering stupidly.

‘Eat slugs, Malfoy,’ said Ron angrily.

Crabbe stopped laughing and started rubbing his knuckles in a menacing way.

‘Be careful, Weasley,’ sneered Malfoy. ‘You don’t want to start any trouble or your Mommy’ll have to come and take you away from school.’ He put on a shrill, piercing voice. ‘”If you put another toe out of line”–’

A knot of Slytherin fifth-years nearby laughed loudly at this. Harry heard himself laughing too and quickly stopped. Ron glared at him, betrayed.

‘Sorry,’ whispered Harry, shuffling his feet. ‘It sounded like her. I’m sorry.’

‘Weasley would like a signed photo, Potter,’ smirked Malfoy. ‘It’d be worth more than his family’s whole house – ’

‘What’s wrong with you?’ shouted Harry as Ron whipped out his Spellotaped wand, but Hermione shut _Voyages with Vampires_ with a snap and whispered, ‘Look out!’

‘What’s all this, what’s all this?’ Gilderoy Lockhart was striding toward them, his turquoise robes swirling behind him. ‘Who’s giving out signed photos?’

Harry started to speak but he was cut short as Lockhart flung an arm around his shoulders and thundered jovially, ‘Shouldn’t have asked! We meet again, Harry!’

Pinned to Lockhart’s side and burning with humiliation, Harry saw Malfoy slide smirking back into the crowd.

. . .

Draco’s arrogance peaked a few days later on the Quidditch field. When the Gryffindor team walked out to practice, the field was occupied by the Slytherin team.

‘I booked the field!’ said Wood, positively spitting with rage. ‘I booked it!’

‘Ah,’ said Flint. ‘But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. “I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker”.’

‘You’ve got a new Seeker?’ said Wood, distracted. ‘Where?’

And from behind the six large figures before them came a seventh, smaller boy, smirking all over his pale, pointed face. It was Draco Malfoy.

Harry felt a great urge to burst out laughing, he could only just contain it.

He’d finally done it! After talking about wanting to join the team almost constantly for over a year, Draco somehow succeeded at wiggling his way in.

Bring it! Harry wanted to yell at him. He couldn’t wait to win at Quidditch from Draco stinking Malfoy.

‘Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?’ said Fred, looking at Malfoy with dislike.

‘Funny you should mention Draco’s father,’ said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. ‘Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.’

All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the early morning sun.

‘Very latest model. Only came out last month,’ said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. ‘I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Clean sweeps’ – he smiled nastily at Fred and George, who were both clutching Clean sweep Fives – ‘sweeps the board with them.’

None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment. Malfoy was smirking so broadly his cold eyes were reduced to slits.

Harry wanted to check out the Nimbus Two Thousand and One, and compare the specs with his own broom. Could he ask Draco, or would that be betraying his friends again?

‘Oh, look,’ said Flint. ‘A field invasion.’

Ron and Hermione were crossing the grass to see what was going on.

‘What’s happening?’ Ron asked Harry. ‘Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?’

He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes. The athletic look transformed Draco, but not at all in a bad way, thought Harry. He looked fit.

‘I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,’ said Malfoy, smugly. ‘Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought our team.

Ron gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superb broom sticks in front of him.

‘Good, aren’t they?’ said Malfoy smoothly. ‘But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Clean sweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.’

The Slytherin team howled with laughter.

‘At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,’ said Hermione sharply. ‘They got in on pure talent.’

Harry seemed to be the only one on the Gryffindor team willing to let Draco have this moment. It made him wonder if Draco would have let Harry have this moment if the tables were turned.

The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered. ‘No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,’ he spat.

Harry knew at once that Malfoy had said something really bad because there was an instant uproar at his words. Flint had to dive in front of Malfoy – who looked quite surprised, Harry noted – to stop Fred and George jumping on him, Alicia shrieked, ‘How dare you!’ and Ron plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, ‘You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!’ and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Malfoys face.

A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Ron’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.

‘Ron! Ron! Are you all right?’ squealed Hermione. Ron opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap.

The Slytherin team were paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Malfoy was on all fours – theatrical git – banging the ground with his fist. The Gryffindors were gathered around Ron, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him.

Quickly, Harry and Hermione took Ron to Hagrid.

‘Malfoy called Hermione something,’ Harry explained to him. ‘It must’ve been really bad, because everyone went wild.’

‘It was bad,’ said Ron hoarsely, emerging over the table top looking pale and sweaty. ‘Malfoy called her Mudblood, Hagrid.’ Ron dived out of sight again as a fresh wave of slugs made their appearance.

Hagrid looked outraged. ‘He didn’!’ he growled at Hermione.

‘He did,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know what it means. I could tell it was really rude, of course – ’

‘It’s about the most insulting thing he could think of,’ gasped Ron, coming back up. ‘Mudblood’s a really foul name for someone who is Muggle-born – you know, non-magic parents. There are some wizards – like Malfoy’s family – who think they’re better than everyone else because they’re what people call pure-blood.’ He gave a small burp, and a single slug fell into his outstretched hand. He threw it into the basin and continued, ‘I mean, the rest of us know it doesn’t make any difference at all. Look at Neville Longbottom – he’s pure-blood and he can hardly stand a cauldron the right way up.’

‘An’ they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’ do,’ said Hagrid proudly, making Hermione go a brilliant shade of magenta.

‘It’s a disgusting thing to call someone,’ said Ron, wiping his sweaty brow with a shaking hand. ‘Dirty blood, see. Common blood. It’s ridiculous. Most wizards these days are halfblood anyway. If we hadn’t married Muggles we’d’ve died out.’

He retched and ducked out of sight again.

‘Well, I don’ blame yeh fer tryin’ ter curse him, Ron,’ said Hagrid loudly over the thuds of more slugs hitting the basin. ‘Bu’ maybe it was a good thing yer wand backfired. ’Spect Lucius Malfoy would’ve come marchin’ up ter school if yeh’d cursed his son. Least yer not in troule.’

Harry kept quiet during all this. He didn’t know what to think about Draco casually using a word that caused so much anger and hurt.

. . .

To make matters worse, Harry started hearing voices. They were coming from the walls, and going on about blood and wanting to kill.

He was following the voice, with Ron and Hermione trailing behind him, when they found Mrs. Norris, Filch’s cat, stoned and hanging from the ceiling. Foot-high words had been daubed on the wall behind it, shimmering in the light cast by the flaming torches.

‘THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.’

For a few seconds, they didn’t move. Then Ron said, ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘Shouldn’t we try and help – ’ Harry began awkwardly.

‘Trust me,’ said Ron. ‘We don’t want to be found here.’

But it was too late. A rumble, as though of distant thunder, told them that classes had just ended. From either end of the corridor where they stood came the sound of hundreds of feet climbing the stairs, and loud, happy talk. Next moment, students were crashing into the passage from both ends.

The chatter, the bustle, the noise died suddenly as the people in front spotted the hanging cat. Harry, Ron, and Hermione stood alone, in the middle of the corridor, as silence fell among the mass of students pressing forward to see the grisly sight.

Then someone shouted through the quiet: ‘Enemies of the Heir, beware!’

It was Draco Malfoy. He had pushed to the front of the crowd to stand next to Harry, his cold eyes alive, his usually bloodless face flushed, as he grinned at the sight of the hanging, immobile cat.

‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’

‘Tone it down,’ said Harry.

Draco ignored him. ‘Is it written in _blood_?’

Harry slammed Draco’s hand down when he wanted to touch the letters on the wall.

‘Dear me, Harry, what did you _do_?’ Draco whispered, smirking.

Dumbledore arrived on the scene, followed by a number of other teachers. In seconds, he had swept past Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco and detached Mrs. Norris from the torch bracket.

‘Come with me, Argus,’ he said to Filch. ‘You, too, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy.’

They were swooped into Lockhart’s office and accused of all sorts of things. In the end, none of them could tell the headmaster anything about what happened to the cat or who wrote those nasty things, not even Draco Malfoy.

Still, Ron was convinced Malfoy was behind it all.

‘Let’s think,’ he said in mock puzzlement. ‘Who do we know who thinks Muggle-borns are scum?’

He looked at Hermione. Hermione looked back, unconvinced.

‘If you’re talking about Malfoy – ’

‘Of course I am!’ said Ron. ‘You heard him – ‘You’ll be next, Mudbloods!’– come on, you’ve only got to look at his foul rat face to know it’s him – ’

‘Unnecessary,’ muttered Harry.

‘You can’t keep defending him!’ said Ron.

‘I’m not. I just mean… ’

What did he mean? Harry wondered. He thought about what Ron was saying: maybe Harry wasn’t looking at this rationally, not objectively.

‘Alright, well… ’ Harry wrecked his brain. ‘Looking at his family… The whole lot of them have been in Slytherin; he’s always boasting about it. They could easily be Slytherin’s descendants.’ He remembered Mr. Malfoy and the things he’d said to Draco. ‘His father’s definitely evil enough to do something like this.’

‘They could’ve had the key to the Chamber of Secrets for centuries!’ said Ron. ‘Handing it down, father to son… ’

‘Malfoy, the Heir of Slytherin?’ Hermione said cautiously, ‘Well, I suppose it’s possible… ’

If even Hermione considered the possibility, maybe Draco Malfoy really wasn’t who Harry thought he was…

‘But how do we _prove_ it?’ said Harry.

‘There might be a way,’ said Hermione slowly, dropping her voice still further with a quick glance across the room at Percy. ‘Of course, it would be difficult. And dangerous, very dangerous. We’d be breaking about fifty school rules, I expect – ’

‘If, in a month or so, you feel like explaining, you will let us know, won’t you?’ said Ron irritably.

‘All right,’ said Hermione coldly. ‘What we’d need to do is to get inside the Slytherin common room and ask Malfoy a few questions without him realizing it’s us.’

‘But that’s impossible,’ Harry said as Ron laughed.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Hermione. ‘All we’d need would be some Polyjuice Potion.’

‘What’s that?’ said Ron and Harry together.

‘Snape mentioned it in class a few weeks ago – ’

‘D’you think we’ve got nothing better to do in Potions than listen to Snape?’ muttered Ron.

‘It transforms you into somebody else. Think about it! We could change into three of the Slytherins. No one would know it was us. Malfoy would probably tell us anything. He’s probably boasting about it in the Slytherin common room right now, if only we could hear him.’

‘Or,’ said Harry, ‘I could go and ask him.’

‘What makes you think he’d tell you the truth?’ asked Ron. ‘You shouldn’t trust him so much, Harry. You don’t know him at all.’

Harry looked at his feet. So much was true. He didn’t know Draco in the least as much as he’d like to.

. . .

Finally the day arrived that Harry got the chance to beat Draco Malfoy at Quidditch.

‘We’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team.’ Chest heaving with emotion, Oliver Wood turned to Harry. ‘It’ll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we’ve got to wintoday, we’ve got to.’

‘So no pressure, Harry’ said Fred, winking at him.

Harry grinned. ‘Malfoy’s going down.’

‘On my whistle,’ said Madam Hooch. ‘Three… two… one…’

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of them, squinting around for the Snitch.

‘All right there, Scarhead?’ yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

‘Close one, Harry!’ said George, streaking past him with his club in his hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight for Harry again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang and shot at Harry’s head.

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible…

‘We need time out,’ said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop the Bludger breaking Harry’s nose at the same time.

‘Listen,’ said Harry, ‘with you two flying around me all the time the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.’

‘Don’t be thick,’ said Fred. ‘It’ll take your head off.’

‘If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!’ said Harry. ‘And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger!’

‘”Get the Snitch or die trying,” what a stupid thing to tell you!’

A whistling in Harry’s ear told him the Bludger had just missed him again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

‘Training for the ballet, Potter?’ yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger. Harry snorted, and then, looking back at Malfoy, he saw it – the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches above Malfoy’s left ear – and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn’t seen it.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM.

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last, smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain- drenched broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at his side – the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time zooming at his face – Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought Harry was attacking him.

‘What the – ’ he gasped, careening out of Harry’s way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch; he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass out.

With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard, as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.

‘Aha,’ he said vaguely. ‘I beat him.’

And he fainted.

. . .

He woke up in the hospital wing, with Ron and Hermione at his bedside. They told him what happened to his arm: apparently his bones vanished entirely after Professor Lockhart tried to set them.

‘We won, though,’ said Ron, a grin breaking across his face. ‘That was some catch you made. Malfoy’s face… he looked ready to kill… ’

That was enough to make Harry smile. Draco’s angry looks were a sight to behold.

‘I want to know how he fixed that Bludger,’ said Hermione darkly.

None of them doubted it was Malfoy who made the Bludger act so viciously.

‘We can add that to the list of questions we’ll ask him when we’ve taken the Polyjuice Potion,’ said Harry, sinking back onto his pillows. ‘I hope it tastes better than this stuff… ’ He pointed at the medicine Madame Pomfrey made him drink.

‘If it’s got bits of Slytherins in it? You’ve got to be joking,’ said Ron.

The door of the hospital wing burst open at that moment. Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team had arrived to see Harry.

‘Unbelievable flying, Harry,’ said George.

‘I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.’

Harry laughed. Malfoy had been hypnotized by Harry’s ballet-flying.

. . .

Thursday afternoon’s Potions lesson proceeded in the usual way. Twenty cauldrons stood steaming between the wooden desks, on which stood brass scales and jars of ingredients. Snape prowled through the fumes, making waspish remarks about the Gryffindors’ work while the Slytherins sniggered appreciatively.

Unfortunately, Snape didn’t want them working in pairs today, so Harry had to muddle on through all by himself. Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy kept flicking pufferfish eyes at Ron and Harry, knowing that if they retaliated they would get detention faster than you could say ‘Unfair.’

One of the eyes hit Ron right in his ear and they could hear Malfoy laugh triumphantly. Ron, turning scarlet, wanted to turn around, so Harry quickly pushed his head down. ‘Don’t!’

He turned to Draco. ‘What do you want, Malfoy?’

Draco leaned his hand in his chin, smiling. ‘Attention.’

Harry tried not to laugh. He wanted to say something witty about positive and negative attention, then Draco added: ‘You never call me Dra anymore.’

Harry’s stomach made a somersault. He didn’t know what to reply to that.

Right at that moment Goyle’s Potion exploded, showering the whole class. People shrieked as splashes of the Swelling Solution hit them. Malfoy got a faceful and his nose began to swell like a balloon; Goyle blundered around, his hands over his eyes, which had expanded to the size of a dinnerplate – Snape was trying to restore calm and find out what had happened. Through the confusion, Harry saw Hermione slip quietly into Snape’s office.

‘Silence! SILENCE!’ Snape roared. ‘Anyone who has been splashed, come here for a Deflating Draft – when I find out who did this – ’

Harry tried not to laugh as he watched Malfoy hurry forward, his head drooping with the weight of a nose like a small melon.

‘Karma, Dra!’ Harry couldn’t help but holler at the top of his lungs.

It cost Gryffindor ten points.

. . .

After Potions, the Gryffindors had Herbology with the Hufflepuffs.

Ernie and his friend Hannah came to work at the same Shrivelfig as Harry and Ron.

‘That Draco Malfoy character,’ said Ernie, breaking off dead twigs, ‘he seems very pleased about all this, doesn’t he? D’you know, I think he might be Slytherin’s heir.’

‘That’s clever of you,’ said Ron.

‘Do you think it’s Malfoy, Harry?’ Ernie asked.

‘No,’ said Harry, so firmly that Ernie and Hannah stared.

. . .

A week later, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were walking across the entrance hall when they saw a small knot of people gathered around the noticeboard, reading a piece of parchment that had just been pinned up. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas beckoned them over, looking excited.

‘They’re starting a Dueling Club!’ said Seamus. ‘First meeting tonight!’

‘Could be useful,’ Ron said to Harry and Hermione as they went into dinner. ‘Shall we go?’

Harry and Hermione were all for it, so at eight o’clock that evening they hurried back to the Great Hall.

The long dining tables had vanished and a golden stage had appeared along one wall, lit by thousands of candles floating overhead. The ceiling was velvety black once more and most of the school seemed to be packed beneath it, all carrying their wands and looking excited.

Snape and Lockhart moved through the crowd, matching up partners. Lockhart teamed Neville with Justin Finch-Fletchley, but Snape reached Harry and Ron first.

‘Time to split up the dream team, I think,’ he sneered. ‘Weasley, you can partner Finnigan. Potter – ’

Harry moved automatically toward Hermione.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Snape, smiling coldly. ‘Mr. Malfoy, come over here. Let’s see what you make of the famous Potter.’

Malfoy strutted over, smirking.

This was going to be good, thought Harry, already lifting his wand and returning the smirk.

‘Face your partners!’ called Lockhart, back on the platform. ‘And bow!’

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads, not taking their eyes off each other.

‘Wands at the ready!’ shouted Lockhart. ‘When I count to three, cast your charms to disarm your opponents – only to disarm them – we don’t want any accidents – one… two… three – ’

Harry swung his wand high, but Malfoy had already started on ‘two’: his spell hit Harry so hard he felt as though he’d been hit over the head with a saucepan.

‘Ha!’ Harry heard Malfoy yell as he stumbled.

Everything still seemed to be working, and wasting no more time, Harry pointed his wand straight at Malfoy and shouted, ‘Rictusempra!’

A jet of silver light hit Malfoy in the stomach and he doubled up, wheezing.

‘I said disarm only!’ Lockhart shouted in alarm over the heads of the battling crowd, as Malfoy sank to his knees; Harry had hit him with a Tickling Charm, and he could barely move for laughing.

Harry hung back, with a vague feeling it would be unsporting to bewitch Malfoy while he was on the floor, but this was a mistake; gasping for breath, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry’s knees, choked, ‘Tarantallegra!’ and the next second Harry’s legs began to jerk around out of his control in a kind of quick step.

‘Stop! Stop!’ screamed Lockhart, but Snape took charge.

‘Finite Incantatem!’ he shouted; Harry’s feet stopped dancing and Malfoy stopped laughing – only for a moment, then their eyes met and both burst out laughing.

‘Let’s have a volunteer pair!’ yelled Lockhart. ‘Longbottom and Finch-Fletchley, how about you – ’

‘A bad idea, Professor Lockhart,’ said Snape, gliding over like a large and malevolent bat. ‘How about Malfoy and Potter?’

Draco jumped up.

‘Excellent idea!’ said Lockhart , gesturing Harry and Malfoy into the middle of the hall as the crowd backed away to give them room.

‘Now, Harry,’ said Lockhart. ‘When Draco points his wand at you, you do this.’

He raised his own wand, attempted a complicated sort of wiggling action, and dropped it. Snape smirked as Lockhart quickly picked it up, saying, ‘Whoops – my wand is a little overexcited – ’

Snape moved closer to Malfoy, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy smirked, too.

Harry looked up nervously at Lockhart and said, ‘Professor, could you show me that blocking thing again?’

‘Scared, Potter?’ muttered Malfoy, so that Lockhart couldn’t hear him.

‘You wish,’ said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

Lockhart cuffed Harry merrily on the shoulder. ‘Just do what I did, Harry!’

‘What, drop my wand?’

Draco snorted, but Lockhart wasn’t listening. ‘Three – two – one – go!’ he shouted.

Malfoy raised his wand quickly and bellowed, ‘Serpensortia!’

The end of his wand exploded. Harry watched, aghast, as a long black snake shot out of it, fell heavily onto the floor between them, and raised itself, ready to strike.

That night Harry found out he could speak to snakes, and that no one else could. From that moment on, Harry was suspect number one to be the heir of Slytherin.

. . .

In the second week of December Professor McGonagall came around as usual, collecting names of those who would be stayng at school for Christmas. Harry, Ron, and Hermione signed her list; they had heard that Malfoy was staying, which struck them as very suspicious.

Crabbe and Goyle, who always did whatever Malfoy did, had signed up to stay over the holidays, too.

‘Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be,’ said Ron.

Harry was glad that most people were leaving. He was tired of everyone skirting around him in the corridors, as though he was about to sprout fangs or spit poison; tired of all the muttering, pointing, and hissing as he passed.

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, shouting, ‘Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…’

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior. ‘It is not a laughing matter,’ he said coldly.

‘Oh, get out of the way, Percy,’ said Fred. ‘Harry’s in a hurry.’

‘Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,’ said George, chortling.

Harry didn’t mind; it made him feel better that Fred and George, at least, thought the idea of his being Slytherin’s heir was quite ludicrous.

But their antics seemed to be aggravating Draco Malfoy, who looked increasingly sour each time he saw them at it.

‘It’s because he’s bursting to say it’s really him,’ said Ron knowingly. ‘You know how he hates anyone beating him at anything, and you’re getting all the credit for his dirty work.’

‘Not for long,’ said Hermione in a satisfied tone. ‘The Polyjuice Potion’s nearly ready. We’ll be getting the truth out of him any day now.’

Harry didn’t dare to contradict them, but had his own explanation for Draco’s mood: Fred and George were getting in the way of Draco’s own jokes about Harry being the heir of Slytherin.

. . .

When Christmas finally arrived and everyone had left Hogwarts, Harry went out to corner Malfoy alone somewhere. He needed to talk to him.

At last, he spotted him at the library, immerged in a book, enclosed between three bookcases.

‘Dra,’ Harry whispered.

Draco lazily looked up. ‘Potter,’ he snarled. ‘What on earth are you doing here? _Can_ you read?’

‘Shut up.’ Harry leaned over to him, looking around to check if they were still alone. ‘Do _you_ think I’m the heir of Slytherin?’

Draco scoffed. ‘Making weird sounds in the presence of snakes does not instantly change your entire heritage, Potter.’

‘No, I know… ’

Draco slouched against one of the bookshelves, his gaze somewhere around Harry’s belly. ‘It sounded awesome.’

Harry’s mouth fell open. This was the first time he’d ever heard Draco say something unironically positive.

Draco shrugged. ‘Don’t look so smug… It’s not very Gryffindorian, is it? Talking to snakes.’

‘I’m not smug at all, you git. I’m terrified.’

Draco looked up. ‘Why?’

For a second Harry didn’t dare ask the question, but he desperately wanted to know Draco’s opinion.

‘Could _I_ have opened the chamber of secrets?’ he blurted out. ‘Unknowingly or something?’

Malfoy gave a short derisive laugh. ‘No,’ he said. ‘You’d know if you did. _I’d_ know if you did – you’re not exactly subtle.’

‘Did you open it?’ Harry asked. ‘Ron and Hermione think so.’

‘Really?’ Draco jeered. ‘Oh, I’m _loving_ that. Do _you_ think I did?’

Harry shrugged. 

‘My father knows things about the last time it opened, but he refuses to tell me.’ Draco scowled, then he straightened his back, put a hand on his heart and said in a great impression of his father's voice: ‘”For us Malfoys the less we know about these things, the better.”’

Harry laughed and felt relieved. He knew Draco wasn’t evil. He softly kicked his shoe. ‘Whatcha reading?’

Draco slapped the paperback in the palm of his hand. ‘Some trash novel about a vampire… I fucking love vampires.’

Somehow he managed to say that in the angriest way possible. It made Harry laugh, which made Draco look up in confusion.

‘Sorry.’ Harry coughed nervously. ‘Enjoy reading, bye.’

Harry all but ran away.

Draco was innocent! He knew it!

. . .

“Us, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. What a jolly holiday it’s going to be,” Ron had said, and he’d been right.

After Dueling Club, Harry got a taste for hexing. He’d learned about a new spell he was dying to try out, but it wasn’t a spell to use on his friends. He bet Draco wouldn’t mind if Harry practiced on him.

The right moment presented itself one sunny afternoon. Hermione wanted to study outside, so Ron and Harry went with her. Ron wanted to catch the giant squid in the lake. He said it was possible with the right bait.

Walking through the courtyard, Harry spotted Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle sitting on one of the stone benches with their backs towards them.

Harry didn’t think. He pointed his wand at the back of Draco’s silver-blonde head, muttered his spell and saw the head bop forward, as it should have felt like somebody slapped it.

Malfoy sprung to his feet, his wand in hand, and Harry bolted, howling with laughter, past Ron and Hermione over the grass around the castle. Within seconds something jerked at his legs and he tumbled to the ground.

‘Tripping jinx, Potter!’ Malfoy shrieked with glee, but Harry had already gotten up again. Over his shoulder, he fired a couple more slapping-curses at Draco, which all got shielded with a timely ‘Protego!’.

Suddenly Harry’s legs clung together – Malfoy’s classic Leg-Locker Curse – and as Harry tried hopelessly to hop to safety, Malfoy slammed into him with full force, hurling him into the lawn.

Pinning him down with his knees, Malfoy jabbed his wand under Harry’s chin. ‘You’re dead, Potter!’

Harry was crying with laughter. Everything hurt. He was sure he was bleeding and his glasses got broken – again.

‘Can’t… breathe,’ he said, right before flinging his wand: ‘Impedimenta.’

‘Protego!’

Draco flew back, but only inches. Harry hung back to laugh some more. Bewildered, Draco sat next to Harry in the grass.

‘I _excel_ at this,’ Harry told his friend. 

Draco pointed his wand at Harry’s eye, at which Harry immediately pointed his at Draco.

‘Reparo,’ Draco mumbled and Harry’s glasses sprung back, fixed. Next, Malfoy grabbed Harry’s wrist – the one pointing at him – which appeared to be bleeding quite heavily. ‘Episkey.’

Draco dropped Harry’s arm so abruptly it fell to the ground, and Harry sat up. The bleeding had stopped; his wrist was healed. Harry made a mental note to look up that spell later.

As Malfoy got up he tried to surprise Harry with one last Stunning spell, which Harry saw coming for miles and blocked.

‘Admit it, Dra!’ he shouted. ‘I excel at this!’

‘Never!’ bellowed Draco, firing another futile spell at Harry.

It was the start of an ongoing duel, throughout the castle, lasting for weeks: every time Draco and Harry passed each other they tried out a new jinx. Sometimes they’d be on separate moving stairs, sometimes on different ends of corridors or hallways.

‘Potter!’ Draco would holler, before shooting another Leg-Locker curse.

It cost their houses dozens of points and drove Ron and Hermione and – surprisingly – Pansy beyond insanity.

Harry would look up new spells in the library, frantically, and ask Hermione to help perfect them, which she did while lecturing him about responsible spell use the entire time.

Then, Harry would wait for the right opportunity, for example when Draco climbed into a tree for a surprise attack.

‘Potter!’

‘Levio!’ Harry yelled, beaming with joy.

Draco flew up in the sky, caught by the wind, as if he weighed nothing more than a leaf. Without any control, he spinned through the air like a feather in the wind.

‘Potter, put me down!’

‘Scared of heights, Malfoy?’ Harry shouted, laughing.

Slowly, in a zigzag, Draco whirled down, landing softly on the ground.

Harry stepped over him before Draco could spring back on his feet, to point the wand at his forehead.

‘Did it hurt?’ Harry beamed. ‘When you fell from the sky?’

Sniggering he walked off, only to be slapped at the back of his head by his very own spell, for letting his guard down.

. . .

Unfortunately, Harry wasn’t able to convince Ron and Hermione of Draco’s innocence after his conversation with him in the library. They still wanted to go through with the Polyjuice interrogation. Harry couldn’t really blame Hermione, after spending such a lot of time on the Potion.

So when it was finally finished, he took it, together with his friends. Perhaps, thought Harry, he could catch Draco talking about him again.

After turning into Crabbe and Goyle, Ron and Harry were found by Draco – instead of the other way around.

‘There you are,’ he drawled, looking at them. ‘Have you two been pigging out in the Great Hall all this time? I’ve been looking for you; I want to show you something really funny.’

Malfoy motioned for Harry and Ron to follow him. He and Ron hurried after Malfoy. He paused by a stretch of bare, damp stone wall.

'Pure-blood!’ said Malfoy, and a stone door concealed in the wall slid open. Malfoy marched through it, and Harry and Ron followed him.

The Slytherin common room was a long, low underground room with rough stone walls and ceiling from which round, greenish lamps were hanging on chains. A fire was crackling under an elaborately carved mantel piece ahead of them, and several Slytherins were silhouetted around it in high-backed chairs.

Harry could easily picture Draco in a surrounding like this. Lazing about in one of those regal looking armchairs with a book about vampires.

‘Wait here,’ said Malfoy to Harry and Ron, motioning them to a pair of empty chairs set back from the fire. ‘I’ll go and get it, my father’s just sent it to me – ’

Wondering what Malfoy was going to show them, Harry and Ron sat down, doing their best to look at home.

Malfoy came back a minute later, holding what looked like a newspaper clipping. He thrust it under Ron’s nose. ‘That’ll give you a laugh,’ he said.

The article was about Ron’s dad and their bewitched car. Ron did not think it was funny.

‘Well?’ said Malfoy impatiently as Harry handed the clipping back to him. ‘Don’t you think it’s funny?’

Ron’s – or rather, Crabbe’s – face was contorted with fury.

‘What’s up with you, Crabbe?’ snapped Malfoy.

‘Stomachache,’ Ron grunted.

‘Well, go up to the hospital wing – and give all those Mudbloods a kick from me,’ said Malfoy, snickering. ‘You know, I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported all these attacks yet,’ he went on thoughtfully. ‘I suppose Dumbledore’s trying to hush it all up. He’ll be sacked if it doesn’t stop soon. Father’s always said old Dumbledore’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to this place. He loves Muggle-borns. A decent headmaster would never’ve let slime like that Creevey in.’

Malfoy started taking pictures with an imaginary camera and did a cruel but accurate impression of Colin: ‘”Potter, can I have your picture, Potter? Can I have your autograph? Can I lick your shoes, please, Potter?”’

Harry laughed. ‘Stop it, Dra… co’

He wanted to bite off his tongue. Thankfully, Draco didn’t notice how Harry almost used his nickname.

‘Saint Potter, the Mudbloods’ friend,’ said Malfoy.

Harry had a hard time not to beam. Half an hour! Not even half an hour before Malfoy started talking about Harry again, without any cause!

‘He’s another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn’t go around with that jumped up Granger Mudblood. And people think he’s Slytherin’s heir!’

Harry and Ron waited with bated breath: Malfoy was surely seconds away from telling them it was him – but then:

‘I wish I knew who it is,’ said Malfoy petulantly. ‘I could help them.’

Ron’s jaw dropped so that Crabbe looked even more clueless than usual.

Harry, thinking fast, said, ‘You must have some idea who’s behind it all… ’

‘You know I haven’t, Goyle, how many times do I have to tell you?’ snapped Malfoy.

Harry cheered on the inside. If this didn’t convince Ron of Draco’s innocence he wouldn’t know what did!

‘And Father won’t tell me anything about the last time the Chamber was opened either. Of course, it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time, but he knows all about it, and he says that it was all kept quiet and it’ll look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I know one thing – last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood died. So I bet it’s a matter of time before one of them’s killed this time… I hope it’s Granger,’ he said with relish.

Harry gasped.

‘She keeps beating me in Potions,’ added Malfoy, and Harry snorted.

‘What?’ asked Draco, and before Harry could stop himself he said: ‘You’re so dramatic.’

Ron was clenching Crabbe’s gigantic fists. Feeling that it would be a bit of a giveaway if Ron punched Malfoy, Harry shot him a warning look and said, ‘D’you know if the person who opened the Chamber last time was caught?’

‘Oh, yeah… whoever it was was expelled,’ said Malfoy. ‘They’re probably still in Azkaban.’

‘Azkaban?’ said Harry, puzzled.

‘Azkaban – the wizard prison, Goyle,’ said Malfoy, looking at him in disbelief ‘Honestly, if you were any slower, you’d be going backward.’

He shifted restlessly in his chair and said, ‘Father says to keep my head down and let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it. He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it.’

Harry looked at Ron’s hands. His fingers were turning slimmer, longer. Even his hair was turning red – their hour was up, Ron was turning back into himself, and from the look of horror he was suddenly giving Harry, he must be, too.

They both jumped to their feet.

‘Medicine for my stomach,’ Ron grunted, and without further ado they sprinted the length of the Slytherin common room, hurled themselves at the stone wall, and dashed up the passage, hoping against hope that Malfoy hadn’t noticed anything.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got any new leads?’ Hermione asked them later.

‘Nothing,’ said Harry.

‘I was so sure it was Malfoy,’ said Ron, for about the hundredth time.

Harry had a hard time not to gloat and rub it in that he was right and Ron and Hermione were wrong. Maybe now they would finally start understanding that Draco wasn’t as bad as they thought he was.

. . .

On Valentine’s day somebody sent Harry a persistent dwarf to sing him a Valentine message. It found Harry when he was walking through a crowded corridor to his next class.

‘Not here,’ Harry hissed, trying to escape.

‘Stay still!’ grunted the dwarf, grabbing hold of Harry’s bag and pulling him back.

‘Let me go!’ Harry snarled, tugging.

With a loud ripping noise, his bag split in two. Trying to keep him from getting away, the dwarf had ripped Harry’s bag. His books, wand, parchment, and quill spilled onto the floor and his ink bottle smashed over everything.

Harry scrambled around, trying to pick it all up before the dwarf started singing, causing something of a holdup in the corridor.

‘What’s going on here?’ came the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

It felt like someone had dropped icewater on Harry's neck. Wishing he could melt away into the stone tiles, he started stuffing everything feverishly into his ripped bag, desperate to get away before Malfoy could hear his musical valentine.

‘What’s all this commotion?’ said another familiar voice as Percy Weasley arrived. 'Crimson and Clover back at it again?'

Losing his head, Harry tried to make a run for it, but the dwarf seized him around the knees and brought him crashing to the floor – and then he started singing the worst poem Harry had ever heard. Something about Harry’s eyes looking like pickled toad and him being a hero, defeating the dark lord.

And all of that right in front of Draco Malfoy. Harry would have given all the gold in Gringotts to evaporate on the spot.

Trying valiantly to laugh along with everyone else, he got up, his feet numb from the weight of the dwarf, as Percy Weasley did his best to disperse the crowd, some of whom were crying with mirth.

‘Off you go, off you go, the bell rang five minutes ago, off to class, now,’ he said, shooing some of the younger students away. ‘And you, Malfoy – ’

Harry, glancing over, saw Malfoy stoop and snatch up something. Leering, he showed it to Crabbe and Goyle, and Harry realized that he’d got Riddle’s diary.

‘Give that back,’ said Harry.

‘Wonder what Potter’s written in this?’ said Malfoy.

A hush fell over the onlookers. Ginny was staring from the diary to Harry, looking terrified.

‘Hand it over, Malfoy,’ said Percy sternly.

‘When I’ve had a look,’ said Malfoy, waving the diary tauntingly at Harry.

Percy said, ‘As a school prefect – ’

Malfoy was opening the diary and Harry panicked. Pulling out his wand, he shouted, ‘Expelliarmus!’ and just as Snape had disarmed Lockhart, so Malfoy found the diary shooting out of his hand into the air.

Ron, grinning broadly, caught it.

‘Harry!’ said Percy loudly. ‘For the hundredth time: no magic in the corridors. I’ll have to report this again!’

But Harry didn’t care. He’d saved his private thoughts from Malfoy, and that was worth five points from Gryffindor any day.

Malfoy was looking furious, and as Ginny passed him to enter her classroom, he yelled spitefully after her, ‘I don’t think Potter liked your Valentine much!’

Harry couldn’t stand it. ‘Don’t bother her, Malfoy, for something you don’t have the guts to do!’

Then he bolted, not knowing what had come over him.

Ron laughed so much he couldn’t breathe. ‘You should’ve seen his face, Harry!’

. . .

The situation with the Chamber of Secrets turned steadily more grim. At some point Dumbledore got suspended and the students had to move around the castle in a pack with the other Gryffindors. Most of their fellow students seemed glad that they were being shepherded from class to class by teachers, but Harry found it very irksome.

One person, however, seemed to be thoroughly enjoying the atmosphere of terror and suspicion. Draco Malfoy was strutting around the school as though he had just been appointed Head Boy. Harry didn’t realize what he was so pleased about until the Potions lesson about two weeks after Dumbledore and Hagrid had left, when, sitting right behind Malfoy, Harry overheard him gloating to Crabbe and Goyle.

‘I always thought Father might be the one who got rid of Dumbledore,’ he said, not troubling to keep his voice down. ‘I told you he thinks Dumbledore’s the worst headmaster the school’s ever had. Maybe we’ll get a decent headmaster now. Someone who won’t want the Chamber of Secrets closed. McGonagall won’t last long, she’s only filling in… ’

When Snape got in, he divided them into the same old pairs again. Harry sat down next to Draco; getting a front seat view on his one man show.

‘Sir,’ said Malfoy loudly. ‘Sir, why don’t you apply for the headmaster’s job?’

‘Now, now, Malfoy,’ said Snape, though he couldn’t suppress a thin-lipped smile. ‘Professor Dumbledore has only been suspended by the governors. I dare say he’ll be back with us soon enough.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Malfoy, smirking. ‘I expect you’d have Father’s vote, sir, if you wanted to apply for the job – I’ll tell Father you’re the best teacher here, sir – ’

Snape smirked as he swept off around the dungeon. Harry pretended to vomit in their cauldron.

‘Piss off, Potter,’ Draco snarled. ‘One of us has to make sure we beat Granger.’ And without missing a beat he picked up where he left off: ‘I’m quite surprised the Mudbloods haven’t all packed their bags by now. Bet you five Galleons the next one _dies_. Pity it wasn’t Granger – ’

Harry turned away and Draco looked aside at him. ‘Oh come on, Potter.’

Harry was not amused. ‘Death is not a joke, Malfoy.’

Draco leaned over to him. ‘But it would make _us_ top of the class.’

The bell rang. ‘Let me at him,’ Ron growled as Harry and Dean hung onto his arms. ‘I don’t need my wand, I’m going to kill him with my bare hands – ’

. . .

Finally some good news arrived:

‘Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.’

There was an explosion of cheering. Harry looked over at the Slytherin table and wasn’t at all surprised to see that Draco Malfoy hadn’t joined in. He’d been having the time of his life with all this mystery and not getting outshined by Hermione all the time.

Ron, however, was looking happier than he’d looked in days.

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine, with Hogwarts back to normal. The only dark cloud, thought Harry, was that Draco was no longer strutting around the school as though he owned the place. Harry was surprised to notice he missed it. Draco looked resentful and sulky. It made Harry want to shake him and yell: ‘People are not dying! How can you be sad about that!’ Sometimes, he didn’t understand the boy at all.

Perhaps Malfoy was sad about the school year ending, like Harry was. Although, going back to a mansion with servants and racing brooms and plenty of magic around as a constant reminder that you’re a wizard wasn’t quite the same as another lonely summer with the Dursleys.

As he got on the train, Harry already looked forward to next year.


	3. Chapter 3

On their way back to Hogwarts after summer, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sharing a compartment with the new Defense Against The Dark Arts professor. Mid-afternoon, just as it had started to rain, blurring the rolling hills outside the window, they heard footsteps in the corridor, and three people appeared at the door: Draco Malfoy, flanked by his cronies, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

‘Well, look who it is,’ said Malfoy in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the compartment door. ‘Potter and his Weasel.’

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled trollishly.

Harry groaned. Draco loved picking fights with his friends.

‘I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,’ said Malfoy. ‘Did your mother die of shock?’

‘Shut _up_ , Malfoy,’ Harry said.

Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks’ basket to the floor. Professor Lupin gave a snort.

‘Who’s that?’ said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backwards as he spotted Lupin.

‘New teacher,’ said Harry, who had got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold Ron back.

Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed. ‘C’mon,’ he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.

Harry leaned out of the compartment. ‘Oh come on, Dra! He won’t bite!’

Sniggering Harry sat down again. Ron was massaging his knuckles. ‘I’m not going to take any rubbish from Malfoy this year,’ he said angrily. ‘I mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I’m going to get hold of his head and –’ Ron made a violent gesture in mid-air.

‘Ron,’ hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, ‘be careful…’

But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.

Harry smiled. The year had officially started.

. . .

At last, the carriage swayed to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out.

As Harry stepped down, a drawling, delighted voice sounded in his ear. ‘You fainted, Potter?’

Something cold closed around Harry’s heart. Draco found out.

Harry had indeed fainted. The guards of Azkaban had been searching the train to find an escaped prisoner: Sirius Black. Everyone had been perfectly fine, but of course Harry Potter fainted. And Draco Malfoy knew.

‘Is Longbottom telling the truth? You actually fainted?’ Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry’s way up the stone steps to the castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.

‘Shove off, Malfoy’ said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.

‘Did you faint as well, Weasley?’ said Malfoy loudly. ‘Did the scary old Dementor frighten you, too, Weasley?’

Harry might have enjoyed Draco’s excitement if he weren’t so terribly mortified about the whole situation.

‘Is there a problem?’ said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just got out of the next carriage.

Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of sarcasm in his voice, he said, ‘Oh, no – er – Professor,’ then he smirked at Crabbe and Goyle, and led them up the steps into the castle.

As soon as they got to the castle Harry was summoned to professor McGonagall’s office. Her and Madame Pomfrey wanted to make sure he was okay. They were making a fuss about the Dementor and Harry’s ridiculous reaction and Harry felt more and more mortified.

‘I’m fine!’ he said at last, jumping up when they started about going to the hospital wing.

The idea of what Draco Malfoy would say if he had to go to the hospital wing was torture.

Not that the boy needed any more encouragement. When Harry, Ron and Hermione entered the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, the first thing they saw was Draco Malfoy, who seemed to be entertaining a large group of Slytherins with a very funny story. As they passed, Malfoy did a ridiculous impression of a swooning fit and there was a roar of laughter.

It was truly a shame Hogwarts didn’t have a Glee club, Draco’d missed his calling.

‘Ignore him,’ said Hermione, who was right behind Harry. ‘Just ignore him, it’s not worth it…’

‘Hey Potter!’ shrieked Pansy Parkinson, a Slytherin girl with a face like a pug. ‘Potter! The Dementors are coming, Potter! Woooooooo!’

Harry hated that girl with every inch of his being. He dropped into a seat at the Gryffindor table, next to George Weasley.

‘New third-year timetables,’ said George, passing them over. ‘What’s up with you, Harry?’

‘Malfoy,’ said Ron, sitting down on George’s other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table.

George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again.

‘That little git,’ he said calmly ‘He wasn’t so cocky last night when the Dementors were down our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn’t he, Fred?’

Harry straightened up. ‘He did what now?’

‘Nearly wet himself,’ said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy.

Harry remembered Draco running away in the Forbidden Forest. Why did he even think for a second that he’d be braver now, eye-to-eye with one of those dementor creatures? Of course he’d be running into the nearest compartment! Oh, this vision cheered Harry up. He knew Fred and George would have been relentless to him about it.

‘Anyway, we’ll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match,’ said Fred. ‘Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?’

The only time Harry and Malfoy had faced each other in a Quidditch match, Malfoy had definitely come off worse. Feeling infinitely more cheerful in the prospect of playing against Malfoy, Harry helped himself to sausages and fried tomatoes.

After breakfast, Harry, Ron and Hermione said goodbye to Fred and George and walked back through the hall. As they passed the Slytherin table, Malfoy did yet another impression of a fainting fit. Harry smiled and casually showed him his middle finger. It made Malfoy laugh loudly and fall back in his chair.

Harry didn’t mind the shouts of laughter following him into the Entrance Hall.

. . .

Ron and Hermione were bickering about something, earlier that day, and now they weren’t speaking to each other at all. Harry walked beside them in silence as they went down the sloping lawns to Hagrid’s hut on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

It was only when he spotted three only-too-familiar backs ahead of them that he realised they must be having Care of Magical Creatures with the Slytherins. Malfoy was talking animatedly to Crabbe and Goyle, who were chortling. Harry wondered what they were talking about.

‘Now, firs’ thing yeh’ll want ter do is open yer books –’ Hagrid started their first Care of Magical Creatures class.

‘How?’ said the cold, drawling voice of Draco Malfoy.

‘Eh?’ said Hagrid.

‘How do we open our books?’ Malfoy repeated. He took out his copy of The Monster Book of Monsters, which he had bound shut with a length of rope.

‘Yeh’ve got ter stroke ’em,’ said Hagrid, as though this was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘Look…’ He took Hermione’s copy and ripped off the Spellotape that bound it. The book tried to bite, but Hagrid ran a giant fore finger down its spine, and the book shivered, then fell open and lay quiet in his hand.

‘Oh, how silly we’ve all been!’ Malfoy sneered. ‘We should have stroked them! Why didn’t we guess!’

Harry sniggered.

‘I… I thought they were funny,’ Hagrid said uncertainly to Hermione.

‘Oh, tremendously funny!’ said Malfoy. ‘Really witty, giving us books that try and rip our hands off!’

‘Stand down, Dra,’ Harry told him. Hagrid was looking downcast and Harry wanted Hagrid’s first lesson to be a success.

Draco scowled at him and when Hagrid wasn’t looking, Harry pulled up his sleeve to show him the wound on his wrist where the book bit him. It made Draco’s frown even deeper, but at least he kept quiet. 

‘Righ’ then,’ said Hagrid, who seemed to have lost his thread, ‘so… so yeh’ve got yer books an’… an’… now yeh need the Magical Creatures. Yeah. So I’ll go an’ get ’em. Hang on…’

He strode away from them into the Forest and out of sight.

‘God, this place is going to the dogs,’ said Malfoy loudly. ‘That oaf teaching classes, my father’ll have a fit when I tell him –’

‘Oh, shut up, Malfoy,’ said Harry.

‘Careful, Potter, there’s a Dementor behind you –’

Harry hid his smile. ‘I’m going to hear about this for a long time, aren’t I?’

Draco grinned broadly.

As Hagrid took his time getting the animals they were studying today, Draco swaggered closer to Harry, Ron and Hermione. In a careless gesture while passing, he locked Ron’s legs together with a Leg-Locker curse, and in the chaos that ensued he swiftly seized Harry’s arm.

‘Episkey.’

The wounds on Harry’s wrist, inflicted by the Monster Book of Monsters, were healed. Harry could have done that himself, but he still thought it was kind. Draco stalked back to his friends as Hermione loosened Ron’s legs again.

Harry tried to smile at Malfoy, but he was looking stiffly away.

Hagrid came back with a bunch of huge animals: half horse, half eagle.

‘Now, firs’ thing yeh gotta know abou’ Hippogriffs is they’re proud,’ said Hagrid. ‘Easily offended, Hippogriffs are. Don’t never insult one, ’cause it might be the last thing yeh do.’

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle weren’t listening; they were talking in an undertone.

‘Right – who wants ter go first?’ asked Hagrid after explaining the assignment.

Most of the class backed further away in answer. Even Harry, Ron and Hermione had misgivings. The Hippogriffs were tossing their fierce heads and flexing their powerful wings; they didn’t seem to like being tethered like this.

‘No one?’ said Hagrid, with a pleading look.

‘I’ll do it,’ said Harry. He stared straight at Draco while saying it. The boy finally stopped talking, mid-sentence, to watch what happened.

There was an intake of breath from behind him and both Lavender and Parvati whispered, ‘Oooh, no, Harry, remember your tea leaves!’

Harry ignored them. He climbed over the paddock fence.

‘Good man, Harry!’ roared Hagrid. ‘Right then – let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.’

He untied one of the chains, pulled the grey Hippogriff away from his fellows and slipped off his leather collar.

The class on the other side of the paddock seemed to be holding its breath. Malfoy’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion – or worry?

Thankfully, Buckbeak bowed for Harry, the way he was supposed to, and the class broke into applause, all except for Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, who were looking deeply disappointed.

Up next was the rest of the class. Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle had taken over Buckbeak, figuring if Harry could work with him, so could they.

Buckbeak had bowed to Malfoy, who was now patting his beak, looking disdainful.

‘This is very easy,’ Malfoy drawled, loud enough for Harry to hear him. ‘I knew it must have been, if Potter could do it… I bet you’re not dangerous at all, are you?’ he said to the Hippogriff. ‘Are you, you ugly great brute?’

It happened in a flash of steely talons; Malfoy let out a high-pitched scream and next moment, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak back into his collar as he strained to get at Malfoy, who lay curled in the grass, blood blossoming over his robes.

‘I’m dying!’ Malfoy yelled, as the class panicked. ‘It’s killed me!’

Before he knew it, Harry sat next to him. There was a long, deep gash in Malfoy’s arm.

‘Episkey,’ Harry tried, to no avail. ‘Episkey! Stop yelling!’ Harry tried to hold Malfoy still enough to put some pressure on the wound the muggle-way, since his healing charm didn’t seem to do to Draco’s wound what it did to Harry’s. ‘You’re making it worse, you dramatic bastard.’

‘I’m dying, look at me!’

‘Yer not dyin’!’ said Hagrid, who had gone very white. ‘Someone help me – gotta get him out ta here –’

Hermione ran to open the gate while Hagrid lifted Malfoy easily. Blood splattered the grass as Hagrid ran with him, up the slope towards the castle.

Very shaken, the Care of Magical Creatures class followed at a walk. The Slytherins were all shouting about Hagrid.

‘They should sack him straight away!’ said Pansy Parkinson, who was in tears.

‘It was Malfoy’s fault!’ snapped Dean Thomas. Crabbe and Goyle flexed their muscles threateningly.

They all climbed the stone steps into the deserted Entrance Hall.

‘I’m going to see if he’s OK!’ said Pansy, and they all watched her run up the marble staircase. The Slytherins, still muttering about Hagrid, headed away in the direction of their dungeon common room; Harry, Ron and Hermione proceeded upstairs to Gryffindor Tower.

‘D’you think he’ll be all right?’ said Hermione nervously.

‘’Course he will, Madam Pomfrey can mend cuts in about a second,’ said Harry, who had had far worse injuries mended Magically by the matron.

‘That was a really bad thing to happen in Hagrid’s first class, though, wasn’t it?’ said Ron, looking worried. ‘Trust Malfoy to mess things up for him…’

As soon as they could they went to see Hagrid, in an effort to cheer him up.

‘You haven’t been sacked, Hagrid!’ comforted Hermione.

‘Not yet,’ said Hagrid miserably, taking a huge gulp of whatever was in the tankard. ‘But ’s only a matter o’ time, i’n’t it, after Malfoy…’

‘How is he?’ said Ron, as they all sat down. ‘It wasn’t serious, was it?’

‘Madam Pomfrey fixed him best she could,’ said Hagrid dully, ‘but he’s sayin’ it’s still agony… covered in bandages… moanin’…’

Harry shook his head. ‘He’s such an exaggerator, I wish he’d play it cool for once. Madam Pomfrey regrew half my bones last year. Trust Malfoy to milk it for all it’s worth. He doesn’t _think_ about the consequences.’ Harry pulled his arms around his stomach, suddenly moody. ‘I bet that stupid Pansy’s all over him right now…’

‘School gov’nors have bin told, o’ course,’ said Hagrid miserably. ‘They reckon I started too big. Shoulda left Hippogriffs fer later… done Flobberworms or summat… jus’ thought it’d make a good firs’ lesson… s’all my fault…’

‘It’s all Malfoy’s fault, Hagrid!’ said Hermione earnestly.

‘We’re witnesses,’ said Harry. ‘You said Hippogriffs attack if you insult them. It’s Malfoy’s problem he wasn’t listening. We’ll tell Dumbledore what really happened.’

‘Yeah, don’t worry, Hagrid, we’ll back you up,’ said Ron.

. . .

On Sunday morning, before anyone was up, Harry went to see Draco in the hospital wing. The day before, he’d gone to the library to get Draco a book, so he’d have something to do up there in bed.

Harry doubted if he'd need it though. Malfoy was probably showered already in attention from his friends and presents from his parents, but Harry felt like he couldn’t visit empty-handed.

On the way to the hospital wing he made a little detour to the kitchens too, to get some snacks. Draco was always carrying snacks, he needed them.

It wasn’t until right at the doorstep of the hospital wing, that Harry remembered that everyone being asleep at 7 am on a Sunday also included Draco Malfoy. He probably shouldn’t wake him.

So instead of properly visiting, Harry sneaked into silently drop off the book and the snacks, thinking it was for the best anyway, or Ron and Hermione would be wondering where he was, and Hagrid might feel betrayed if he found out Harry had been consorting with the enemy.

Harry didn't dare look at the blonde head in the bed – it felt intrusive somehow, like he was stalking Draco – and put his gifts softly on the nightstand.

‘Potter…’

Harry jumped hearing the creaking voice coming from the bed.

‘What time is it…?’

When Harry dared to look, he saw Draco draping over the width of the hospital bed, looking like a carelessly tossed away scarf.

Before he could answer the question, Draco went on: ‘You have no idea how much I’m suffering, Potter. The _night_ I just had… I’ve been awake for _ages_ , absolutely ages. This room is too darn light, I’m telling you. I told Mrs _Useless_ over there, more than once to be exact, but she flat out refuses to install some blinds. I’d _kill_ for some curtains right now, literally _kill_ , Potter, how _did_ you put up with it? Do they have a special room for celebrities? If that’s the case, I deserve to stay there. I’m Draco bleeding Malfoy, tell her that. And those _worthless_ painkillers only work for, like, the blink of an eye, I keep waking up in _pain_. It’s all agony, Harry, absolute agony. Anyway, why are you here?’

Harry caught himself beaming. How lovely to be able to rant like that first thing in the morning, without seemingly even needing to breathe.

‘No reason,’ Harry said casually. ‘Brought you some stuff.’

He looked around for a place to sit and Draco moved over to make room on the bed.

‘How’s your arm?’ Harry asked, sitting down.

Draco scowled. ‘My arm’s _fine_! You know, there _is_ a person behind the arm!’

Harry had a hard time not to laugh.

‘Oh, right.’ Harry leaned closer to Draco’s arm. ‘How’s Draco?’

‘Oh, such a _hoot_ , Potter, spare me.’ But Harry noticed the corners of Draco’s mouth twitching.

Malfoy stretched his good arm to Harry’s gifts on the nightstand. ‘Oh Merlin… you brought _Vanity thy name is Vampire_ , that’s…’ Draco was actually smiling, although trying very hard to pull it together again. ‘I love that one - Oh!’

With a swiftness that made Harry jump, Draco slammed Harry’s speculoos on the nightstand to break it in half, and he handed Harry a piece.

Harry shook his head. ‘I need to go back.’

‘Why?’ Draco sneered. ‘Oh, so _important,_ you are. What appointments do you have then, Scarhead, at 7 am on Sunday morning?’

Harry was of two minds. He liked talking with Draco – any day – but the boy _was_ trying to get Hagrid sacked and Buckbeak killed… Harry should be angry.

‘Spit it out,’ said Draco. ‘You’re a hopeless bottler-upper, Potter. I can tell.’

That was enough to set Harry off. ‘ _You’re_ a hopeless _faker_.’ Harry nodded at Draco’s arm. ‘I don’t understand why you’re trying to get Hagrid sacked. Buckbeak didn’t harm anyone before _you_ came along. You shouldn’t have insulted him. If you didn’t talk every minute of every day, you would have heard Hagrid _say_ you shouldn’t insult them.’

‘Yuck Potter, you sound like my mother. She’s always saying I’m too loud.’ Pouting his lips, he put on a high pitched voice and stroked his hair behind his ear. “‘It’s not _becoming_ to talk so much, Draconius.”’

Harry snorted. ‘ _Draconius_?’

‘Forget it.’

‘Oh, never.’

‘It’s just a nickname. And please tell me: _when_ did I _insult_ it?’ Draco scowled. ‘We were bonding.’

‘You called it an ugly great brute,’ said Harry.

Malfoy looked a little confused. ‘Yes… Right, well… It’s an animal. How could I know it understands English? And furthermore -’

Harry cracked up at the posh language.

‘ _I’m_ not trying to get Hagrid sacked, it’s my parents. They are being horribly overprotective.’

‘Oh yes, and you can do nothing to stop them of course. You are powerless against mommy and daddy.’

‘Sarcasm is not a good look on you, Potter. I'll have you know that they gave me two options: I let them at it or I get transferred to Beaxbatons.’

‘What’s–…’

‘It’s the French Hogwarts.’

‘How…’ Harry tried to wrap his head around that. ‘But… won’t they speak French?’

Draco smirked. ‘My word, Potter, now that you mention it, I actually wouldn’t even be surprised if they did!’

Sarcasm was a great look on Draco, Harry hated to admit.

‘I mean…’ Harry sighed. ‘How could you follow classes there? You wouldn’t understand anything.’

Draco rolled his eyes. ‘Oh Harry, for the millionth time: I’m a Malfoy. Obviously, I speak French.’

Harry snorted. ‘Oh, sure…’

‘I do!’

‘Say something then.’

Draco squinted, the smirk reappearing on his face. ‘ _Qu'est-ce que tu veux que je dise_?

Harry’s chin dropped. Then he shook his head. ‘You know one sentence. Doesn’t prove anything.’

‘ _Je peux certainement dire plus d'une phrase, hibou.’_

Harry stared at him, quite shamelessly too. The movements of Draco’s lips were a whole new world to Harry. It made him stop breathing for a second.

‘ _Je suis si fou de toi_ ,’ Draco said, smiling. ‘ _Je ne sais pas pourquoi tu es toujours surpris. Je suis brilliant.’_

‘Stop it!’ Harry shook his head and finally managed to look away. ‘You’re infuriating.’

Draco leaned closer to him. ‘ _Je me noie dans tes yeux.’_

‘Don’t think I don’t know that you’re insulting me right now! But I can do this too, remember?’ Harry focused very hard on the snake of the Slytherin logo and hissed: _‘You speak French, I speak Snake.’_

Harry glanced at Draco to see if it worked. By the looks of Draco’s glazy eyes he could tell it did.

Encouraged, Harry went on: ‘ _I like your bed hair._ ’

‘Yeah, alright! Made your point!’ Draco leaned back in his pillows looking away. It made Harry laugh.

Harry took some speculoos, and threw another bit at Draco’s head, which he caught without even paying attention – he really was a great Seeker.

‘Okay so if you’re not trying to get Hagrid sacked, why are you still here?’ asked Harry. ‘Isn’t it time to go back to school? Or didn’t you get enough attention yet?’

Draco looked daggers at him. ‘You actually think I’m here for _attention_? I’ve never had _less_ attention than I have in here. Everyone abandons me. I'm so _bored_ , Potter. If I could leave I would, but that… fascist nurse is insisting I stay, and my _parents_ …’

‘That’s ridiculous, why would they keep you? It’s just a scratch, right?’

‘That’s what I keep saying! But it’s that wretched _red line._ They’re all going bonkers about the red line.’

Harry had no clue what he was on about.

Draco lifted his chin with a defiant look – and he started to unbutton his pajama shirt.

Startled, Harry backed away, but he couldn’t stop staring at Draco’s fingers, his collarbones, his chest, his shoulders, his arm…

The lower half of Draco’s arm was bandaged. He showed Harry the skin of his upper arm.

Harry leaned closer – and indeed, there it was: a fiery red line underneath Draco’s skin. It ran from underneath the bandage all the way to Draco’s armpit.

Before he could stop himself, Harry touched it. It just felt like skin, nothing weird about it. Except that it wasn’t supposed to be there.

‘It’s creeping up, higher every hour, and they say if it reaches my heart I die,’ Draco growled, buttoning up again. ‘Such rubbish. I never heard of it, _never_. It’s probably some useless muggle myth, but my parents wouldn’t risk it, no matter if it was written in crayon by an elephant at the London Zoo. Oh, look at this.’ He showed Harry his hand.

Harry saw nothing.

Impatiently, Draco wiggled it, so Harry got closer. ‘What am I supposed to see?’

‘What, you don’t see it?’

Harry grabbed the hand to inspect it.

The bandage started at Draco’s wrist. It was clean bandage, there was no blood or anything on the hand. Was he supposed to see the red line somewhere?

Harry stretched Draco’s fingers and ran his thumbs over the lines in Draco’s palm a few times, but he couldn’t feel anything either.

Frowning, he looked up. ‘What am I looking at, Dra?’

Draco sighed. ‘Oh, you’re useless… Anyway, thanks for the snacks, and for the book… Might entertain me for a few minutes… Merlin, I’ve never been this bored.’

Harry mindlessly held onto Draco’s hand, mesmerized by the gray eyes skipping over everything around them, and by the hundreds of tiny expressions flying over Draco’s face.

Suddenly his eyes locked on Harry’s. The intensity shook him.

‘Do you think,’ Draco asked, ‘I could _learn_ Parseltongue?’

Harry didn’t doubt it for a second. He had yet to find something Draco couldn’t do.

‘Oh no, you wouldn’t like it,’ Harry uttered, hiding a smile. ‘We don’t want to frighten you by looking at the scary snakes, getting you nightmares, now, do we?’ Harry let go of Draco’s hand to pat his head. ‘So don’t go breaking your pretty little head over grown-up stuff, Draconius, having silly dreams of doing things that are much too difficult for you. Stay safely in bed, listen to mommy and daddy and let the sweet nurse take care of you.’

Draco’s lips were invisibly thin. ‘It’s scary how well you know how to rile me, Potter.’

Harry grinned. ‘Yes, well, lots of things scare you, don’t they?’

Draco grabbed his wand and Harry ducked away, howling with laughter.

‘Just get me a book on Parseltongue! I hate you, Potter!’

. . .

Malfoy didn’t reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He swaggered into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Harry’s opinion, as though he was the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.

It made Harry smile. He was happy to see Draco back – especially at Potions, because who knew who Snape paired him up with if Draco had stayed absent any longer?

‘How is it, Draco?’ simpered Pansy Parkinson. ‘Does it hurt much?’

Harry felt a weird little sting on his insides as Pansy touched the bandage.

‘Yeah,’ said Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. Then he saw Harry looking and winked.

Harry shook his head, trying not to beam.

‘Settle down, settle down,’ said Professor Snape idly.

Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn’t have said ‘settle down’ if they’d walked in late, he’d have given them detention. But Malfoy had always been able to get away with anything in Snape’s classes; Snape was Head of Slytherin house, and generally favoured his own students before all others.

They were making a new Potion today, a Shrinking Solution.

Malfoy set up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they were preparing their ingredients on the same table.

‘Sir,’ Malfoy called, ‘sir, I’ll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm –’

‘Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,’ said Snape, without looking up.

Ron went brick red.

‘There’s nothing wrong with your arm,’ he hissed at Malfoy.

Malfoy smirked across the table. ‘Weasley, you heard Professor Snape, cut up these roots.’

Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy’s roots towards him and began to chop them roughly, so that they were all different sizes.

‘Professor,’ drawled Malfoy, ‘Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.’

Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair. ‘Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley.’

‘But sir –!’

Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.

‘Now,’ said Snape in his most dangerous voice.

Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then took up the knife again.

‘And, sir, I’ll need this Shrivelfig skinned,’ said Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.

‘Potter, you can skin Malfoy’s Shrivelfig,’ said Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserved just for him.

Harry shot Malfoy his most tired look. ‘For real?’

Malfoy was smirking more broadly than ever.

‘You could’ve just asked…’

Harry took Malfoy’s Shrivelfig as Ron set about trying to repair the damage to the roots he now had to use.

Harry skinned the Shrivelfig as fast as he could and flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking more broadly than ever.

‘Seen your pal Hagrid lately?’ he asked them quietly.

‘None of your business,’ said Ron jerkily, without looking up.

‘I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,’ said Malfoy, in a tone of mock sorrow. ‘Father’s not very happy about my injury –’

‘Keep talking, Malfoy, and I’ll give you a real in jury,’ snarled Ron.

‘– he’s complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father’s got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this –’ he gave a huge, fake sigh, ‘who knows if my arm’ll ever be the same again?’

‘So that _is_ why you’re putting it on?’ asked Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. ‘To try and get Hagrid sacked?’

‘Well,’ said Malfoy, ‘partly, Potter. But there are other benefits, too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.’

Harry honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or to kick Draco in the shins.

Suddenly Draco stared at Harry with a concentrated look on his face.

‘Hello,’ he said after a second. ‘How are you?’

Harry blinked and glanced at Ron, who looked at Draco with his mouth open. Harry was relieved he wasn't the only one doing that around Draco.

‘Er…’ Harry said, weirded out. ‘I’m fine, you?’

Draco’s face lit up. ‘Did I say it right? You understood that? It’s very difficult, Parseltongue.’

‘Oh!’ Harry never noticed a difference between English and Parseltongue. Clearly, Draco had studied the book Harry had dropped off to him between lessons. ‘That's great! Can you say more?’

‘Not yet. It's hard... Merlin, Harry, you've got caterpillar in your hair,’ he suddenly said, leaning across the table to pick it out; Harry felt goose bumps erupt up his neck that had nothing to do with the insect. ‘You disgust me.’

Before Harry could recover, Seamus Finnigan leaned over to borrow Harry’s brass scales. Harry’s face felt hot, and for once he was thankful for the dimly lit dungeon.

‘Hey, Harry,’ Seamus said, ‘have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning – they reckon Sirius Black’s been sighted.’

‘Where?’ said Harry and Ron quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy looked up, listening closely. ‘Not too far from here,’ said Seamus, who looked excited. ‘It was a Muggle who saw him. ’Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she phoned the telephone hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.’

‘Not too far from here…’ Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry. He turned around and saw Malfoy watching closely. ‘What, Malfoy? Need something else skinning?’

But Malfoy’s eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He leaned across the table. ‘Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?’

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ said Harry offhandedly.

Malfoy’s thin mouth was curving in a mean smile. ‘Of course, if it was me,’ he said quietly, ‘I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.’

Harry stared at him, wishing he could just read his mind. Malfoy knew something that Harry didn’t.

‘What are you talking about, Malfoy?’ said Ron roughly.

‘You don’t know, Potter?’ breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.

‘Know what?’

Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh. ‘Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,’ he said. ‘Want to leave it to the Dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.’

‘Please just tell me what you are talking about,’ said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape called to finish up.

‘What did Malfoy mean?’ Harry muttered to Ron a few minutes later, as he stuck his hands under the icy jet that poured from a gargoyle’s mouth. ‘Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn’t done anything to me – yet.’

‘He’s making it up,’ said Ron, savagely, ‘he’s trying to make you do something stupid…’

Maybe so, Harry thought, but he still wanted to know.

As Harry, Ron and Hermione climbed the steps to the Entrance Hall, Harry was still thinking about what Malfoy had said. When Malfoy passed them, walking between Crabbe and Goyle, he smirked at Harry and disappeared. It infuriated Harry.

. . .

On Halloween everyone was allowed to go to Hogsmeade – everyone except Harry, who didn’t have permission from his aunt and uncle.

He accompanied Ron and Hermione to the Entrance Hall, where Filch, the caretaker, was standing inside the front doors, checking off names against a long list, peering suspiciously into every face, and making sure that no one was sneaking out who shouldn’t be going.

‘Staying here, Potter?’ shouted Malfoy who was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle. ‘Scared of passing the Dementors?’

Faintly smiling in spite of his mood, Harry blew him a kiss and showed him his middle finger in one move. He’d seen Lavender Brown do that and had made a mental note to use it on Draco.

It worked wonders to shut him up.

Then he made his solitary way up the marble staircase, through the deserted corridors, and back to Gryffindor Tower.

. . .

The day turned out to be better than expected. Harry spent it with Professor Lupin, and when Ron and Hermione got back they showered him with sweets and stories about Hogsmeade.

After that they had the Halloween feast, and to top it all off Draco Malfoy spotted Harry as soon as he walked into the Great Hall. ‘The Dementors send their love, Potter!’ he shouted through the crowd.

. . .

That night was the first of many that Harry couldn’t sleep. He punched his pillow into a more comfortable shape and tried his utmost not to allow his thoughts to stray anywhere near it, but to his frustration his mind kept filling up with Draco Malfoy.

It was betraying Ron to think so much about his worst enemy. Everybody hated Malfoy.

Yet Harry couldn’t help himself. He thought about Draco’s eyes back in that book store, his fingers when he touched Harry’s hair, his mouth when he smiled or spoke French or when he said ‘Piss off, Potter.’

He was so wonderful.

. . .

‘Flint’s just been to see me. We’re playing Hufflepuff instead.’

Oliver Wood and the Gryffindor team were in the dressing room for their last practice before their match against Slytherin – or against Hufflepuff, apparently.

‘Why?’ chorused the rest of the team.

‘Flint’s excuse is that their Seeker’s arm’s still injured,’ said Wood, grinding his teeth furiously. ‘But it’s obvious why they’re doing it. Don’t want to play in this weather. Think it’ll damage their chances…’

There had been strong winds and heavy rain all day, and as Wood spoke, they heard a distant rumble of thunder.

‘There’s nothing wrong with Malfoy’s arm!’ said Harry furiously. ‘He’s taking classes and everything!’

‘I know that, but we can’t prove it,’ said Wood bitterly. ‘And we’ve been practicing all those moves assuming we’re playing Slytherin, and instead it’s Hufflepuff, and their style’s quite different.'

The day before the match, the winds reached howling point and the rain fell harder than ever. It was so dark inside the corridors and classrooms that extra torches and lanterns were lit.

The Slytherin team were looking very smug in deed, and none more so than Malfoy.

‘Ah, if only my arm was feeling a bit better!’ he sighed when he and Harry crossed paths at the stairs.

The gale outside pounded the windows.

Harry grabbed Draco’s good arm and put up his most disappointed face in an attempt to be as theatrical as Draco. ‘You let me down, Dra,’ he said.

Malfoy just smirked.

Harry leaned closer. ‘Is the red line gone?’

Draco leaned still closer. It made Harry’s heart skip a beat.

‘They said rain would bring it back,’ Draco jeered.

. . .

The Quidditch match was even worse than Harry expected. A bunch of those nasty Dementors crowded the playing field and to his utter horror, Harry had fainted _again_ – in front of the _entire_ school. He also cracked his skull, forcing him to stay at the hospital wing, but the embarrassment was infinitely worse than any of his physical damage.

It was a relief to return on Monday to the noise and bustle of the main school, where he was forced to think about other things, even if he had to endure Draco Malfoy’s taunting.

Malfoy was almost beside himself with glee at Gryffindor’s defeat. He had finally taken off his bandages, and celebrated having the full use of both arms again by doing spirited imitations of Harry falling off his broom. Malfoy spent much of their next Potions class doing Dementor imitations, until Ron finally cracked, flinging a large, slippery crocodile heart at Malfoy, which hit him in the face and caused Snape to take fifty points from Gryffindor.

Harry laughed louder than anyone.

. . .

The second Hogsmeade-trip, Harry managed to sneak out of the castle to secretly join Ron and Hermione from underneath his invisibility cloak. Besides having loads of fun, he also ended up hearing things that he wasn’t supposed to know if it were up to the adults:

Sirius Black betrayed Harry’s parents. He turned them out to Voldemort.

‘And Malfoy knows!’ Harry said. ‘Remember what he said to me in Potions? “If it was me, I’d hunt him down myself… I’d want revenge.”’

‘You’re going to take Malfoy’s advice instead of ours?’ said Ron furiously. ‘Listen… you know what Pettigrew’s mother got back after Black had finished with him? Dad told me – the Order of Merlin, First Class and Pettigrew’s finger in a box. That was the biggest bit of him they could find. Black’s a mad man, Harry, and he’s dangerous –’

‘Malfoy’s dad must have told him,’ said Harry, ignoring Ron. ‘He was right in Voldemort’s inner circle –’

‘Say You-Know-Who, will you?’ interjected Ron angrily.

‘– so obviously, the Malfoys knew Black was working for Voldemort –’

‘– and Malfoy’d love to see you blown into about a million pieces, like Pettigrew! Get a grip, Malfoy’s just hoping you’ll get yourself killed before he has to play you at Quidditch.’

That did sound like something Malfoy would do, but it was all beside the point. Harry needed an outlet, a way to detonate the hatred and anger he felt.

‘Fine,’ he groaned, and he stormed off, away from the Gryffindor common room and down the stairs, down and down he went, until at last, he reached the dungeons.

‘Pureblood,’ he yelled at the wall hiding the entrance to the Slytherin common room, remembering the password from the year before. To his surprise the door appeared at once.

Harry felt like stepping into a lion’s den. Everyone looked at him and the room fell quiet at once. Harry could feel the tension he’d caused.

To his relief, Draco’s silver head popped up at once from behind one of the armchairs. ‘You’ve got some nerve, Harry Potter!’

In two steps Harry reached him and pushed him. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?!’

At once a dozen wands were pointed at him.

Draco tried to act cool, but Harry saw the anxiety in his eyes. ‘I don’t know what you’re on about, Potter, but you’re embarrassing yourself.’

He grabbed Harry’s arm. Harry felt a swooping sensation in his stomach, and followed Draco out of the door.

‘You should change the password,’ Harry said.

‘We haven’t changed it since Suzie Pelt had a vicious stalker in 1978. No one who wants to live is foolish enough to enter the Slytherin common room uninvited. We take care of our own.’

Draco went into an empty class room further down the corridor.

‘What’s your problem?’ he then snapped.

Harry wanted to push him again, but Draco – having become used to defending himself last year – swiftly put up a shielding charm.

Harry got as close to him as he could. ‘What do you know about Sirius Black?’

Draco lifted his eyebrows. ‘You mean how he told The Dark Lord where your blood traitor family was hiding?’

Furious, Harry took out his wand, but Draco put his away and sat down on a table.

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Harry repeated.

Malfoy shrugged. ‘I only heard last summer. Took it you knew.’

‘You knew perfectly well I didn’t know.’

Malfoy’s eyes lightened up. ‘You want revenge?’

Harry slumped down beside him. ‘Ron and Hermione keep saying I shouldn’t, that it would be reckless and that I’m not a killer.’

‘Everyone is a killer, given the right circumstances.’

Harry stared at him and let the words resonate within him. He _felt_ that answer.

‘I’m so angry,’ he said.

‘Rightly so.’

‘I need to _find_ him.’

‘And then what?’

Draco’s eyes were gleaming with malicious joy. Harry was planning a man’s murder and Draco was loving it. He wasn’t interrupting him, saying “Harry, no”. He was encouraging him.

‘What will you do when you find him?’ Malfoy asked.

That question sparked Harry’s imagination.

The next hour, he and Draco planned Harry’s revenge on Sirius Black in the most excruciatingly gruesome, graphically detailed way possible – and it was wonderful.

After a while, Harry wasn’t angry anymore and the subject changed to Parseltongue. He tried to teach Draco how to speak it, but it was incredibly difficult. Most of the time Draco was just making random hissing sounds, cracking Harry up, which made Malfoy furious. It got increasingly more dangerous to help him.

When Harry finally went back to the Gryffindor tower - only because Draco got hungry - a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

. . .

At Christmas, Harry got a mysteriously long, thin package.

‘What’s that?’ said Ron, looking over, a freshly unwrapped pair of maroon socks in his hand.

‘Dunno…’

Harry ripped the parcel open and gasped as a magnificent, gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Ron dropped his socks and jumped off his bed for a closer look.

‘I don’t believe it,’ he said hoarsely.

It was a Firebolt, identical to the dream broom Harry had gone to see every day in Diagon Alley. Its handle glittered as he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating, and let go; it hung in mid-air, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

There was no card, so they didn’t know who sent it.

‘Wait till Draco sees it,’ Harry beamed.

Ron gave a great whoop of laughter, ‘Malfoy! He’ll be sick as a pig! This is an international standard broom, this is!’

‘I can’t believe this,’ Harry muttered, running a hand along the Firebolt, while Ron sank onto Harry’s bed, laughing his head off at the thought of Malfoy.

As Harry entered the Great Hall, heads turned in the direction of the Firebolt, and there was a good deal of excited muttering. Harry saw, with enormous satisfaction, that the Slytherin team were all looking thunderstruck.

‘Did you see his face?’ said Ron gleefully, looking back at Malfoy. ‘He can’t believe it! This is brilliant!’

‘Put it here, Harry,’ Wood said, laying the broom in the middle of the table and carefully turning it so that its name faced upwards.

People from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were soon coming over to look. Cedric Diggory came over to congratulate Harry on having acquired such a superb replacement for his Nimbus, and Percy’s Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, asked if she could actually hold the Firebolt.

‘Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?’ said a cold, drawling voice.

Harry’s stomach jolted. At last, Draco Malfoy had arrived for a closer look, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

‘Yeah, reckon so,’ said Harry pretending to be casual.

Malfoy shoved Ron aside and sat down next to Harry to check out the broom. ‘Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?’ he said.

Harry, not needing more encouragement than that, started at once, listing every single feature of the Firebolt. He knew the entire manual by heart, since he’d been comparing his ‘old’ Nimbus Two Thousand and Draco’s Nimbus Two Thousand And One with the Firebolt to see how it outperformed them.

He had already exhausted the subject with Ron, but with Draco he got a fresh new chance to start again. Draco knew exactly what he was talking about too, Harry could tell. He kept trying to come up with facts Harry wouldn’t know, and Harry kept refuting Draco’s arguments defending the Nimbus Two Thousand And One’s superiority over the Firebolt’s.

When Draco couldn’t come up with any more reasons why the Firebolt wasn’t as great as everyone thought, his eyes started glittering maliciously. ‘Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute… in case you get too near a Dementor.’

Crabbe and Goyle – still standing behind them – sniggered.

Harry smiled. ‘Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours,’ he said. ‘Then it could catch the Snitch for you.’

The Gryffindor team laughed loudly, Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed. Harry knew perfectly well it hadn’t been the best comeback, but Draco let Harry have this moment.

‘We’ll see,’ he just said, and to Harry’s disappointment he stalked away.

‘Bring it!’ Harry yelled after him.

Alas, no reply.

Harry watched Draco rejoin the rest of the Slytherin team, who put their heads together, no doubt asking Malfoy whether Harry’s broom really was a Firebolt.

. . .

The next Quidditch match against Ravenclaw was superb. Not only did the Gryffindor team win, but Harry managed to scare off some dementors too with a mean Patronus.

Harry turned around to see Professor Lupin, who looked both shaken and pleased.

‘The Dementors didn’t affect me at all!’ Harry said excitedly. ‘I didn’t feel a thing!’

‘That would be because they – er – weren’t Dementors,’ said Professor Lupin. ‘Come and see –’

He led Harry out of the crowd until they were able to see the edge of the pitch.

‘You gave Mr Malfoy quite a fright,’ said Lupin.

Harry stared. Lying in a crumpled heap on the ground were Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle and Marcus Flint, the Slytherin team captain, all struggling to remove themselves from long, black, hooded robes. It looked as though Malfoy had been standing on Goyle’s shoulders.

Standing over them, with an expression of the utmost fury on her face, was Professor McGonagall.

Crying with laughter, Harry stumbled towards Malfoy to help him back on his feet.

‘Oh Dra! Why do you do this to yourself?’

Without thinking, Harry flung his arms around Draco’s neck to hug him tight. It must have been the happiness of their victory getting to his head. That was at least what he told Ron.

. . .

Their second Hogsmeade trip was coming up, and Harry sneaked out of Hogwarts again underneath his invisibility cloak. He and Ron were climbing up the road towards the shrieking shack, when they heard voices nearby. Someone was climbing towards the house from the other side of the hill; moments later, Malfoy had appeared, followed closely by Crabbe and Goyle. Malfoy was speaking.

‘… should have an owl from Father any time now. He had to go to the hearing to tell them about my arm… about how I couldn’t use it for three months…’

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

‘I really wish I could hear that great hairy moron trying to defend himself… “There’s no ’arm in ’im , ’on est“… that Hippogriff’s as good as dead –’

Malfoy disgusted Harry when he talked like that, he didn’t understand it. What did Hagrid ever do to hurt him? Apart perhaps from inviting a hippogriff to slightly cut his arm open after being provoked. Things could be a lot worse, in Harry’s experience.

Malfoy suddenly caught sight of Ron. His pale face split in a malevolent grin.

‘What are you doing, Weasley?’ Malfoy looked up at the crumbling house behind Ron. ‘Suppose you’d love to live here, wouldn’t you, Weasley? Dreaming about having your own bedroom? I heard your family all sleep in one room – is that true?’

Harry seized the back of Ron’s robes to stop him leaping on Malfoy. ‘Leave him to me,’ he hissed in Ron’s ear.

The opportunity was too perfect to miss. Harry crept silently around behind Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle, bent down and scooped a large handful of mud out of the path.

‘We were just discussing your friend Hagrid,’ Malfoy continued to Ron. ‘Just trying to imagine what he’s saying to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. D’you think he’ll cry when they cut off his Hippogriff’s –’

SPLAT!

Malfoy’s head jerked forwards as the mud hit him; his silver-blond hair was suddenly dripping in muck.

‘What the –?’

Ron had to hold onto the fence to keep himself standing, he was laughing so hard.

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle spun stupidly on the spot, staring wildly around.

‘What was that? Who did that?’ said Malfoy, trying to wipe his hair clean.

‘Very haunted up here, isn’t it?’ said Ron, with the air of one commenting on the weather.

Crabbe and Goyle were looking scared. Their bulging muscles were no use against ghosts. Malfoy was staring madly around at the deserted landscape.

Harry sneaked along the path, where a particularly sloppy puddle yielded some foul-smelling, green sludge.

SPLATTER!

Crabbe and Goyle caught some this time. Goyle hopped furiously on the spot, trying to rub it out of his small, dull eyes.

‘It came from over there!’ said Malfoy, wiping his face, and staring at a spot some six feet to the left of Harry.

Crabbe blundered forwards, his long arms outstretched like a zombie. Harry dodged around him, picked up a stick, and lobbed it at Crabbe’s back. Harry doubled up with silent laughter as Crabbe did a kind of pirouette in mid-air, trying to see who had thrown it. As Ron was the only person Crabbe could see, it was Ron he started towards, but Harry stuck out his leg.

Crabbe stumbled – and his huge, flat foot caught the hem of Harry’s Cloak. Harry felt a great tug, then the Cloak slid off his face.

For a split second, Malfoy stared at him.

‘AAARGH!’ he yelled, pointing at Harry’s head. Then he turned tail and ran, at breakneck speed, back down the hill, Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

Harry tugged the Cloak up again, but the damage was done.

‘Harry!’ Ron said, stumbling forward and staring hopelessly at the point where Harry had disappeared, ‘you’d better run for it! If Malfoy tells anyone – you’d better get back to the castle, quick!’

‘See you later,’ said Harry, and without another word, he tore back down the path towards Hogsmeade.

Would Malfoy believe what he had seen? Would anyone believe Malfoy? Nobody knew about the Invisibility Cloak – nobody except Dumbledore. Harry’s stomach turned over – Dumbledore would know exactly what had happened, if Malfoy said anything –

Who was he kidding, of course Malfoy would tell. Knowing how he played out everything that ever happened, he’d reenact this for all eternity; a ghostsighting was more exciting than everything that happened this year put together.

Just as Harry jumped out from behind the statue back at the castle, he heard quick footsteps approaching. It was Snape. He approached Harry at a swift walk, his black robes swishing, then stopped in front of him.

‘So,’ he said. There was a look of suppressed triumph about him.

Harry tried to look innocent, all too aware of his sweaty face and his muddy hands, which he quickly hid in his pockets.

‘Come with me, Potter,’ said Snape.

Harry followed him downstairs to the dungeons and then into Snape’s office.

‘Sit,’ said Snape.

Harry sat. Snape, however, remained standing. ‘I just caught a rather upset Mr Malfoy sharing a strange story, Potter,’ said Snape.

Harry didn’t say anything.

‘He’s telling everyone that he was up by the Shrieking Shack when he ran into Weasley – apparently alone.’

Still, Harry didn’t speak.

‘Mr Malfoy states that he was standing talking to Weasley, when a large amount of mud hit him in the back of the head. How do you think that could have happened?’

Harry tried to look mildly surprised. ‘I don’t know, Professor.’

Snape’s eyes were boring into Harry’s. It was exactly like trying to stare out a Hippogriff. Harry tried hard not to blink.

‘Mr Malfoy then saw an extraordinary apparition. Can you imagine what it might have been, Potter?’

‘No,’ said Harry, now trying to sound innocently curious.

‘It was your head, Potter. Floating in mid-air.’

There was a long silence.

‘Maybe he’d better go to Madam Pomfrey,’ said Harry. ‘If he’s seeing things like –’

‘What would your head have been doing in Hogsmeade, Potter?’ said Snape softly. ‘Your head is not allowed in Hogsmeade. No part of your body has permission to be in Hogsmeade.’

‘I know that,’ said Harry, striving to keep his face free of guilt or fear. ‘It sounds like Malfoy’s having hallucin–’

‘Malfoy is not having hallucinations,’ snarled Snape, and he bent down, a hand on each arm of Harry’s chair, so that their faces were a foot apart. ‘If your head was in Hogsmeade, so was the rest of you.’

To Harry’s dread, Snape continued to make him empty his pockets. Harry slowly pulled out the bag of Zonko’s tricks and the Marauder’s Map. After inspecting the map, he called for Professor Lupin, who couldn’t find any problem with it.

‘It looks like a Zonko product to me –’

Right on cue, Ron came bursting into the office. He was completely out of breath, and stopped just short of Snape’s desk, clutching the stitch in his chest and trying to speak.

‘I – gave – Harry – that – stuff,’ he choked. ‘Bought – it – in Zonko’s – ages – ago…’

‘Well!’ said Lupin, clapping his hands together and looking around cheerfully. ‘That seems to clear that up! Severus, I’ll take this back, shall I?’ He folded the map and tucked it inside his robes. ‘Harry, Ron, come with me, I need a word about my vampire essay. Excuse us, Severus.’

Harry didn’t dare look at Snape as they left his office.

. . .

Draco had been noticeably subdued after being Patronussed and mudballed by Harry, but he seemed to regain some of his old swagger over the next few days. From sneering comments Harry overheard, Malfoy was certain Buckbeak was going to be killed, and seemed thoroughly pleased with himself for bringing it about. It was all Harry could do to stop himself kicking Malfoy in the shins on these occasions. Sometimes, Harry felt as if Draco _wanted_ to be kicked in the shins. He was laying it on real thick, if you asked Harry.

At last, the verdict dropped: Buckbeak was indeed going to be executed.

The safety measures imposed on the students to keep them safe from Sirius Black made it impossible for Harry, Ron and Hermione to go and visit Hagrid in the evenings. Their only chance of talking to him was during Care of Magical Creatures lessons.

He seemed numb with shock at the verdict.

‘’S’all my fault. Got all tongue-tied. They was all sittin’ there in black robes an’ I kep’ droppin’ me notes and forgettin’ all them dates yeh looked up fer me, Hermione. An’ then Lucius Malfoy stood up an’ said his bit, and the Committee jus’ did exac’ly what he told’em…’

‘There’s still the appeal!’ said Ron fiercely. ‘Don’t give up yet, we’re working on it!’

They were walking back up to the castle, escorted by Hagrid, with the rest of the class. Ahead they could see Malfoy, who was walking with Crabbe and Goyle, and kept looking back, laughing derisively.

‘’S’no good, Ron,’ said Hagrid sadly as they reached the castle steps. ‘That Committee’s in Lucius Malfoy’s pocket. I’m jus’ gonna make sure the rest o’ Beaky’s time is the happiest he’s ever had. I owe him that…’

Hagrid turned round and hurried back towards his cabin, his face buried in his handkerchief.

‘Look at him blubber!’

Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were standing just inside the castle doors.

‘Have you ever seen anything quite as pathetic?’ said Malfoy. ‘And he’s supposed to be our teacher!’

Ron made a furious move towards Malfoy, but Hermione got there first – SMACK!

She had slapped Malfoy around the face with all the strength she could muster. Malfoy staggered.

Harry, Ron, Crabbe and Goyle stood flabbergasted as Hermione raised her hand again. ‘Don’t you dare call Hagrid pathetic, you foul – you evil –’

‘Hermione!’ Harry grabbed her hand as she swung it back, and pulled her far away from Draco.

He hesitated to say sorry to Malfoy, the boy really had it coming. Still, Harry couldn’t help but check up on him. Hermione’s slap had left Malfoy’s face bright red and a scratch ran across it. As Harry stepped closer to touch it, Malfoy slapped him away.

‘Get off, Potter!’

Immediately, Ron pulled out his wand.

Malfoy stepped backwards. Crabbe and Goyle looked at him for instructions, thoroughly bewildered.

‘C’mon,’ Malfoy muttered, and next moment, all three of them had disappeared into the passageway to the dungeons.

‘Hermione…!’ Ron said, sounding both stunned and impressed.

Harry reminded himself that Draco brought this onto himself. Still, he felt terrible. Why was Draco doing these horrible things to Hagrid? Why couldn’t they all just get along?

. . .

Meanwhile, the whole of Gryffindor house was obsessed with the coming Quidditch match. Gryffindor hadn’t won the Quidditch Cup since the legendary Charlie Weasley (Ron’s second-oldest brother) had been Seeker. But Harry doubted whether any of them, even Wood, wanted to win as much as he did. The rivalry between Harry and Malfoy was at its highest point ever. Malfoy was still smarting about Harry’s fainting and Buckbeak attacking him, and Harry hadn’t entirely forgiven him how he had kept the information about Sirius from him either. Draco on the other hand had been hit by Hermione and by Harry’s Patronus and those mudballs, and had his own reasons to want revenge.

Harry slept badly. First he dreamed that he had overslept, and that Wood was yelling, ‘Where were you? We had to use Neville instead!’ Then he dreamed that Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherin team arrived for the match riding dragons. He was flying at breakneck speed, trying to avoid a spurt of flames from Malfoy’s steed’s mouth, when he realised he had forgotten his Firebolt. He fell through the air and woke with a start.

When it was finally morning, Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Great Hall to enormous applause. Harry couldn’t help grinning broadly as he saw that both the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were clapping them, too.

The Slytherin table hissed loudly as they passed. Harry looked for Malfoy, but could hardly make him out. He looked small and even paler than usual. Harry felt bad for him. It wasn’t easy to have fun when everyone seemed against you, he knew from experience.

‘And here are the Gryffindors!’ yelled Lee Jordan, who was acting as commentator as usual, when Harry and the rest of the Gryffindor team entered the Quidditch field later that morning. 

Lee’s comments were drowned by a tide of ‘boos’ from the Slytherin end.

‘And here come the Slytherin team. Led by captain Flint. He’s made some changes in the line-up and seems to be going for size rather than skill –’

More boos from the Slytherin crowd. Harry, however, thought Lee had a point. Malfoy looked small in any crowd, but between the others in the Slytherin team, he looked positively tiny; the rest of them were enormous.

‘Mount your brooms!’ said Madam Hooch. ‘Three… two… one…’

The sound of her whistle was lost in the roar from the crowd as fourteen brooms rose into the air. Harry felt his hair fly back off his fore head; his nerves left him in the thrill of the flight; he glanced around to see Malfoy, looking better now too, safely up in the air. Harry couldn’t help but share an overexcited smile with his rival. They sped off in search of the Snitch.

It was essential that he hold Malfoy off the Snitch until Gryffindor was more than fifty points up, so when Harry saw the snitch – it was shimmering at the foot of one of the Gryffindor goal posts – he couldn’t catch it yet. And if Malfoy saw it…

Faking a look of sudden concentration, Harry pulled his Firebolt round and sped off towards the Slytherin end.

It worked. Malfoy went haring after him, clearly thinking Harry had seen the Snitch there…

The Snitch disappeared. Malfoy was still keeping close to Harry as he soared over the match, looking around for it – that was how Harry liked it.

It was only a matter of time until Gryffindor were fifty points ahead. Harry could almost feel hundreds of eyes following him as he soared around the pitch, high above the rest of the game, with Malfoy speeding along behind him.

And then he saw it. The Snitch was sparkling twenty feet above him.

Harry put on a huge burst of speed, the wind roaring in his ears; he stretched out his hand, but suddenly, the Firebolt was slowing down –

Horrified, he looked around. Malfoy had thrown himself forward, grabbed hold of the Firebolt’s tail and was pulling it back.

‘You –’

Harry lost his concentration and was laughing, trying to hit Draco.

He had to admire the boldness of the move: that stupid git was leaning his entire weight on Harry’s broom; one wrong motion by Harry and he’d plunge to his death.

Malfoy was panting with the effort of holding onto the Firebolt, but his eyes were sparkling maliciously. He had achieved what he’d wanted: the Snitch had disappeared again, and as a bonus Harry was doubled up on his broom from laughing.

‘Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I’ve never seen such tactics!’

Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

‘Jerk!’ Harry shouted, and he gave his friend a great push.

At once, Draco slid off the broom and Harry had to grab his shirt to pull him back up.

‘Evil Slytherin,’ he said, shaking his head.

From then on, Harry was marking Malfoy so closely their knees kept hitting each other. Harry wasn’t going to let Malfoy anywhere near the Snitch…

‘Get out of it, Potter!’ Malfoy yelled in frustration, as he tried to turn and found Harry blocking him.

Harry was enjoying himself very much.

‘Angelina, COME ON!’

Harry looked round. Every single Slytherin player apart from Malfoy, even the Slytherin Keeper, was streaking up the pitch towards Angelina – they were all going to block her – Harry wheeled the Firebolt about, bent so low he was lying flat along the handle and kicked it forwards. Like a bullet, he shot towards the Slytherins.

‘AAAAAAARRRGH!’

They scattered as the Firebolt zoomed towards them; Angelina’s way was clear.

‘SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor lead by eighty points to twenty!’

Harry, who had almost pelted headlong into the stands, skidded to a halt in mid-air, reversed and zoomed back into the middle of the pitch.

And then he saw something to make his heart stand still.

Malfoy was diving, a look of triumph on his face – there, a few feet away from him, was a tiny, golden glimmer.

Harry urged the Firebolt forwards, but Malfoy was miles ahead.

‘Go! Go! Go!’ Harry urged his broom.

They were gaining on Malfoy… Harry flattened himself to the broomhandle as Bole sent a Bludger at him…

He was at Malfoy’s ankles… he was level –

Harry saw Draco’s outstretched hand and knew he was going to get the snitch before Harry ever could. Even with the Firebolt, he’d never make it –

Unless…

Draco’s dangerous move to block Harry earlier, sparked an idea. It was a suicide mission, Harry thought, but he had been falling off his broom almost every single game so far – and he’d rather die than let Malfoy beat him at Quidditch.

And so Harry pulled up his knees, planted one foot on the Firebolt and with his eyes fixated on the snitch… he jumped.

Falling through midair, he felt his fingers closing around the snitch.

He caught it! His suicide mission actually worked!

But more importantly, he felt someone else’s fingers closing around Harry’s wrist.

The force of gravity almost dislocated Harry’s shoulder as he was kept from plunging into the depth by someone holding onto his arm. Looking up, Harry saw Draco hanging from his broom with merely a leg, a terrified look in his eyes and his hand clutching Harry’s wrist.

Harry clung onto Draco’s arm, while Malfoy fired every swearword he knew at Harry, even French ones.

Harry just beamed. He’d won!

One of the Firebolt’s features was that it kept close to their rider. Already, it was nudging at Harry’s side. He clambered back on and let go of Draco, allowing him to do the same.

‘Thanks,’ Harry grinned, and he flew away, his fist in the air.

The stadium exploded.

. . .

It wasn’t until late that night, when the party had died out, that Harry realized what a foul move his action had been. He’d never expected Draco to respond the way he did; to catch Harry instead of the snitch. He didn’t think anyone expected that.

All day, no one even mentioned it, as if it didn’t happen. As if Draco’s first instinct hadn’t been to save Harry’s life. It was like this act didn’t fit into anything anyone knew about Draco, so they preferred simply forgetting that it happened.

But it did happen, and now Harry felt bad about it. He found himself thinking of a way to make it right.

It wasn’t until right before they had to leave for summer, that the answer came to Harry.

He used the invisibility cloak to sneak into Madam Hooch’s office and steal the snitch he’d won from Malfoy. It sprung to life in his hand, giving him a hard time hiding it. Eventually Harry wrapped it up so tightly with Spellotape the snitch couldn’t move.

He made a note with a drawing on it, picturing Draco and Harry dangling from Draco’s Nimbus. Underneath the picture, Harry wrote: _I’m yours_.

He meant the snitch.

Draco would get that.


	4. Chapter 4

In the middle of a scorching hot summer day that seemed to drag on forever, an eagle owl landed on Harry’s windowsill. Harry jumped up at once, startled. So far, these fancy owls had been bearers of bad news, threatening to expel him, for example.

This owl was carrying the weirdest little note. It seemed to be a teared bit of parchment. Only a few words were written on it, in glittery black ink:

_Potter,_

_I’m bored._

_Dra_

Harry’s heart swell. Frantically he searched for a sharpie, turned the piece of parchment around and replied: ‘ _Don’t you have a mansion with a quidditch field in the backyard?’_

He attached it to the owl and quickly sent it on its way back to Malfoy.

Half an hour later he regretted every single life decision that lead to him sending Draco’s owl away with _that_ note. He should have written more, something witty and exciting. Now he had to wait until the owl got back, and by that time Malfoy would have forgotten all about–

_Peck peck peck._

Harry looked up. The eagle owl was back already! Harry got the note – bigger this time – from the bird’s claw and eagerly folded it open:

_‘Potter, did you just write your letter on the back of mine? You’re such a savage. And yes, I have a mansion and a quidditch field in the backyard. Your point?’_

Harry laughed out loud. He started looking around his room for something else to write on and found an old receipt of uncle Vernon, from a gas station. That’ll infuriate him, Harry thought, grinning at the face he imagined Draco to pull reading his note.

He sent the eagle owl away, and again, half an hour later it returned, with an answer Harry had expected: all capital letters.

Excitedly, Harry found a gold chocolate wrapper and wrote on it with permanent marker. Gold should be more to Draco’s taste, he thought, smirking to himself.

However, to Harry’s disappointment the eagle owl was too tired to fly again. Harry informed Draco of this in his golden letter and sent Hedwig on her way with it.

Harry fed the eagle owl and the bird let Harry pet him. It had a sweet temper and his feathers shined in the sun.

When Hedwig finally got back – it took her over an hour – she carried a postcard. Harry inspected it: it looked antique, picturing a ‘greetings from London’ image in Sepia at the front, but nothing was written on the back except an address. In glittery black ink, it read: ‘Mr. Draco Malfoy, Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England.’

Harry smiled to himself at the name: Mr. Draco Malfoy.

A loose note whirled on the floor in the wind. Harry picked it up. ‘Just write hello or something,’ it read. ‘You’ll see how it works.’

This time, Harry got a proper quill and ink out of his trunk and sat down at the desk. He stared at the card, feeling silly to just write something.

At last he decided to embrace the silly: ‘Hello or something,’ he wrote.

Nothing happened. The words were simply written on the card.

Harry knew it, Draco was just making fun of his lack of magical knowledge. Well, he – …

The words vanished, as if they melted into the postcard. Straight away, new ones appeared:

‘So uninspired, Potter.’

Harry blinked at the words. Was Draco talking to him through an ancient postcard? Was he sitting at his desk right now, writing these words?

‘Dra?’ Harry wrote, suspiciously, feeling like one of those people seeing a movie for the first time back in the 1900’s.

He had owned talking stationary before though, and that turned out to be lord Voldemort. Harry wasn’t being irrationally paranoid here. He should be extra careful with talking gifts from the Malfoy family.

‘No, it’s Tom Marvolo Riddle.’

Harry felt like pulling his hair out. He was 99% sure it was Draco, he could tell from the handwriting alone, but… he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t. Not again.

A new line appeared underneath the first one: ‘Did you miss me then, Potter?’

Ugh, it was just Draco, Harry was certain. He could almost hear him laughing, the sound echoing against all that marble and gold in his Manor, probably.

‘That isn’t funny,’ he wrote.

As soon as the words vanished a big, messily drawn heart appeared on the card.

Harry marveled at their new postal system.

‘How does this work?’ he wrote.

Almost at once the words got replaced by a single one: ‘Witchcraft!’

Harry grunted.

. . .

A few weeks after Draco’s first letter, a letter from Mrs Weasley arrived, inviting Harry to go with them to the final of the Quidditch World Cup. Somehow, Harry actually managed to make his Uncle Vernon even allow him to go – and at long last the day arrived.

Mr. Weasley’s party kept climbing the stairs into the stadium, and finally they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly halfway between the golden goal posts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows here, and Harry filed into the front seats with the Weasleys

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. Mr. Weasley kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important wizards. Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked as though he were trying to sit on a hedgehog.

Then Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived.

‘Ah, and here’s Lucius!’

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned quickly.

Edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr. Weasley, were none other than the boy Harry had been writing with all summer: Draco Malfoy, along with his father, Lucius Malfoy, and a woman Harry supposed must be Draco’s mother.

Draco greatly resembled his father: pale with a pointed face and white-blond hair. His mother was blonde too; tall and slim, she would have been nice-looking if she hadn’t been wearing a look that suggested there was a nasty smell under her nose. It was the same displeased look Harry was so used to seeing on Draco – Harry’s favourite challenge to soften.

‘Ah, Fudge,’ said Mr. Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister of Magic. ‘How are you? I don’t think you’ve met my wife, Narcissa? Or our son, Draco?’

‘How do you do, how do you do?’ said Fudge, smiling and bowing to Mrs. Malfoy.

Harry tried to catch Malfoy’s eye, but Malfoy kept them straight at the Quidditch field.

The cold gray eyes of Lucius Malfoy did sweep over Mr. Weasley, and then up and down the row.

‘Good lord, Arthur,’ he said softly. ‘What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?’

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, ‘Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.’

‘How - how nice,’ said Mr. Weasley, with a very strained smile.

Mr. Malfoy’s eyes turned to Hermione, who went slightly pink, but stared determinedly back at him. Harry knew exactly what was making Mr. Malfoy’s lip curl like that. The Malfoys prided themselves on being purebloods; in other words, they considered anyone of Muggle descent, like Hermione, second-class.

However, under the gaze of the Minister of Magic, Mr. Malfoy didn’t dare say anything. He nodded sneeringly to Mr. Weasley and continued down the line to his seats.

With a hurtful twitch of his stomach, Harry watched Draco shoot Ron, and Hermione one contemptuous look, then settle himself between his mother and father.

. . .

After the Quidditch match – which had been brilliant – Harry, Ron and Hermione got woken up with a start from their sleep on the campsite by Mr. Weasley, who rushed them outside at once.

People were running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field toward them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter, and drunken yells were drifting toward them.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes.

Bill, Charlie, Percy and Mr. Weasley sprinted towards the masked wizards. ‘We’re going to help the Ministry!’ Mr. Weasley shouted over all the noise, rolling up his sleeves. ‘You lot – get into the woods, and stick together. I’ll come and fetch you when we’ve sorted this out!’

‘C’mon,’ said Fred, grabbing Ginny’s hand and starting to pull her toward the wood. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and George followed.

The colored lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Then he heard Ron yell with pain.

‘What happened?’ said Hermione anxiously, stopping so abruptly that Harry walked into her. ‘Ron, where are you? Oh this is stupid – lumos!’

She illuminated her wand and directed its narrow beam across the path. Ron was lying sprawled on the ground.

‘Tripped over a tree root,’ he said angrily, getting to his feet again.

‘Well, with feet that size, hard not to,’ said a drawling voice from behind them.

Harry’s heart jolted. Draco Malfoy was standing alone nearby, leaning against a tree, looking utterly relaxed. His arms folded, he seemed to have been watching the scene at the campsite through a gap in the trees.

Ron told Malfoy to do something that Harry knew he would never have dared say in front of Mrs. Weasley.

‘Language, Weasley,’ said Malfoy, his pale eyes glittering. ‘Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like _her_ spotted, would you?’ He nodded at Hermione, and at the same moment, a blast like a bomb sounded from the campsite, and a flash of green light momentarily lit the trees around them.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ said Hermione defiantly.

‘Granger, they’re after Muggles,’ said Malfoy. ‘D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair? Because if you do, hang around… they’re moving this way, and it would give us all a laugh.’

Harry looked at him puzzled. ‘Hermione’s a witch.’

Finally, for the first time since the last school year, Draco looked at Harry - and his entire face changed: his forehead relaxed, his eyes softened, and a faint smile appeared. ‘Have it your own way, Potter,’ he said gingerly. ‘If you think they can’t spot a Mudblood, stay where you are.’

‘You watch your mouth!’ shouted Ron.

Everybody present knew that ‘Mudblood’ was a very offensive term for a witch or wizard of Muggle parentage.

‘Never mind, Ron,’ said Hermione quickly, seizing Ron’s arm to restrain him as he took a step toward Malfoy.

There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed.

Malfoy chuckled softly. ‘Scare easily, don’t they?’ he said lazily.

‘Look who’s talking,’ said Harry.

He distinctly remembered Draco’s face when Harry’d thrown mudballs at him from underneath his invisibility cloak. If anyone was scared easily, it was Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy didn’t even look at Harry, his eyes were fixated on Ron.

‘I suppose your daddy told you all to hide? What’s he up to – trying to rescue the Muggles?’

‘Where’re _your_ parents?’ asked Harry, louder this time. ‘Are they out there wearing masks?’

Malfoy turned his face to Harry, looking as arrogant as ever. ‘Well… if they were,’ he said, after a slight but distinct hesitation. ‘I wouldn’t be likely to tell you, would I, Potter?’

Harry felt like he shrunk in size.

‘Oh come on,’ said Hermione, with a disgusted look at Malfoy, ‘let’s go and find the others.’

‘Keep that big bushy head down, Granger,’ sneered Malfoy.

‘Come _on_ ,’ Hermione repeated, and she pulled Harry and Ron up the path again.

‘I’ll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot!’ said Ron hotly.

‘Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him!’ said Hermione fervently.

‘Let’s just keep moving, shall we?’ said Ron, and Harry saw him glance edgily at Hermione.

Perhaps there was truth in what Malfoy had warned them about; perhaps Hermione was in more danger than they were.

They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, still keeping an eye out for Fred, George, and Ginny.

Along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly, boasting about their achievements.

‘Honestly!’ said Hermione, and she and Harry grabbed Ron firmly by the arms, wheeled him around, and marched him away.

Harry wondered why he wasn’t affected by the veela as much as Ron was. He wondered if all veela had that silvery blonde haircolour. He wondered if men could be veela too.

By the time the sounds of the veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter.

Ron sat down on a patch of dry grass at the foot of a tree. He took his small figure of Krum out of his pocket, set it down on the ground, and watched it walk around.

‘I hope the others are okay,’ said Hermione after a while.

‘They’ll be fine,’ said Ron.

Harry wondered about Draco.

‘Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy,’ he said, sitting down next to Ron and watching the small figure of Krum slouching over the fallen leaves. ‘He’s always said he’d like to get something on him.’

‘That’d wipe the smirk off old Draco’s face, all right,’ said Ron.

Harry felt weird. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I suppose it would…’

And then, without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the wood, and something vast, green and glittering erupted. It flew up over the tree tops and into the sky.

Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams.

‘Harry, come on, move!’ Hermione had seized the collar of his jacket and was tugging him backward.

‘What’s the matter?’ Harry said, startled to see her face so white and terrified.

‘It’s the Dark Mark, Harry!’ Hermione moaned, pulling him as hard as she could. ‘You-Know-Who’s sign!’

‘Voldemort’s – ?’

‘Harry, come on!’

Before they had taken a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

Harry whirled around, and in an instant, he registered one fact: each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at himself, Ron, and Hermione.

‘Stop!’ yelled a voice he recognized. ‘STOP! That’s my son!’

They saw Mr. Weasley striding toward them, looking terrified.

After a long talk, with lots of accusations flying all around, Mr. Weasley said he wanted to go to bed and led Harry, Ron, and Hermione through the crowd and back into the campsite. All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking.

Bill was sitting at the small kitchen table, holding a bed sheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Fred, George, and Ginny looked unhurt, though shaken.

With some assistance from Harry, Ron, and Hermione, Mr. Weasley explained what had happened in the woods.

‘Whoever conjured the dark mark scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it,’ said Bill. ‘They all Disapparated before we’d got near enough to unmask any of them.’

‘Death Eaters?’ said Harry. ‘What are Death Eaters?’

‘It’s what You-Know-Who’s supporters called themselves,’ Bill explained. ‘I think we saw what’s left of them tonight – the ones who managed to keep themselves out of Azkaban, anyway.’

‘We can’t prove it was them, Bill,’ said Mr. Weasley. ‘Though it probably was,’ he added hopelessly.

‘Yeah, I bet it was!’ said Ron suddenly. ‘Dad, we met Draco Malfoy in the woods, and he as good as told us his dad was one of those nutters in masks! And we all know the Malfoys were right in with You-Know-Who!’

Harry’s stomach ached and a sigh escaped him. Hermione noticed and shot him a sympathetic look.

. . .

The next time Harry heard anything from Draco, they were on the train back to Hogwarts.

‘Shh!’ Hermione whispered, pressing her finger to her lips and pointing toward the compartment next to theirs.

Harry and Ron listened, and heard a familiar drawling voice drifting in through the open door.

‘… Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore – the man’s such a Mudblood-lover – and Durmstrang doesn’t admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn’t like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line than Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually learn them, not just the defense rubbish we do…’

Hermione got up, tiptoed to the compartment door, and slid it shut, blocking out Malfoy’s voice.

‘So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?’ she said angrily. ‘I wish he had gone, then we wouldn’t have to put up with him.’

‘Durmstrang’s another wizarding school?’ said Harry.

‘Yes,’ said Hermione sniffy, ‘and it’s got a horrible reputation. According to An Appraisal of Magical education in Europe, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts.’

Draco would have loved that, Harry thought. In one of his letters, Draco had said the Dark Arts were the most powerful form of Magic and he wanted to know all about the secret potential they held. The more people told him to stay away from it, the more he wanted to find out why, he’d written Harry.

‘Ah, think of the possibilities,’ said Ron dreamily. ‘It would’ve been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident… Shame his mother likes him…’

. . .

Several of their friends looked in on them as the afternoon progressed, including Neville, who listened jealously to the others’ conversation as they relived the Cup match.

‘Oh wow,’ said Neville enviously as Ron tipped the miniature figure of Viktor Krum onto Neville’s pudgy hand.

‘We saw him right up close, as well,’ said Ron. ‘We were in the Top Box –’

‘For the first and last time in your life, Weasley.’

Draco Malfoy had appeared in the doorway. Behind him stood Crabbe and Goyle, his enormous, thuggish cronies, both of whom appeared to have grown at least a foot during the summer. Evidently they had overheard the conversation through the compartment door, which Neville had left ajar.

‘How nice of you to join us, Malfoy,’ said Harry.

Draco didn’t look at him. It infuriated Harry. Instead he pointed at Pigwidgeon’s cage. A sleeve of Ron’s dress robes was dangling from it, swaying with the motion of the train, the moldy lace cuff very obvious.

‘Weasley… what is that?’ he said.

Ron made to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy was too quick for him; he seized the sleeve and pulled.

‘Look at this!’ said Malfoy in ecstasy, holding up Ron’s robes and showing Crabbe and Goyle, ‘Weasley, you weren’t thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean – they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…’

‘Eat dung, Malfoy!’ said Ron, the same color as the dress robes, as he snatched them back out of Malfoy’s grip.

Malfoy howled with derisive laughter; Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

‘So… going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There’s money involved as well, you know… you’d be able to afford some decent robes if you won…’

‘What are you talking about?’ snapped Ron.

‘Are you going to enter?’ Malfoy repeated slowly.

Harry could tell from the spark in his eyes that Draco knew something they didn’t.

Gradually – in phases – Draco’s eyes wandered over to Harry’s. Still, they managed to catch him by surprise.

‘I suppose you will, Potter?’ he said fondly. ‘You never miss a chance to show off, do you?’

Harry was relishing at the sight of the familiar grey eyes.

‘Either explain what you’re on about or go away, Malfoy,’ said Hermione testily, over the top of The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4.

A gleeful smile spread across Malfoy’s pale face as his attention brutally abandoned Harry again.

‘Don’t tell me you don’t know?’ he said delightedly. ‘Weasley, you’ve got a father _and_ brother at the Ministry and you don’t even know? My God, my father told me about it ages ago…heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father’s always associated with the top People at the Ministry… Maybe your father’s too junior to know about it, Weasley… They probably don’t talk about important stuff in front of him.’

Laughing once more, Malfoy beckoned to Crabbe and Goyle, and the three of them disappeared.

Ron got to his feet and slammed the sliding compartment door so hard behind them that the glass shattered.

‘Ron!’ said Hermione reproachfully, and she pulled out her wand, muttered ‘Reparo!’ and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

‘Well… making it look like he knows everything and we don’t…’ Ron snarled. ‘”Father’s always associated with the top People at the Ministry”… Dad could’ve got a promotion any time… he just likes it where he is…’

‘Of course he does,’ said Hermione quietly. ‘Don’t let Malfoy get to you, Ron.’

‘Him! Get to me!? As if!’ said Ron, picking up one of the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squashing it into a pulp.

‘He can be so mean,’ Harry said. ‘And annoying…’

Ron scowled at him. ‘Why are you smiling?’

To his horror Harry noticed Ron was right and he quickly put a frown on his face. ‘I’m not.’

. . .

Same as last year, the Gryffindors shared their Care of Magical Creatures class with the Slytherins.

‘Mornin’!’ Hagrid said, grinning at Harry, Ron, and Hermione. ‘Blast-Ended Skrewts!’

‘Come again?’ said Ron.

Hagrid pointed down into several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet.

‘Eurgh!’ squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backward.

‘Eurgh’ just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts in Harry’s opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over one another, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a skrewt, and with a small phut, it would be propelled forward several inches.

‘On’y jus’ hatched,’ said Hagrid proudly, ‘so yeh’ll be able ter raise ‘em yerselves! Thought we’d make a bit of a project of it!’

‘And why would we want to raise them?’ said a cold voice.

The Slytherins had arrived. The speaker was Draco Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle were chuckling appreciatively at his words.

Hagrid looked stumped at the question.

‘I mean, what do they do?’ asked Malfoy. ‘What is the point of them?’

Hagrid opened his mouth, apparently thinking hard; there was a few seconds’ pause, then he said roughly, ‘Tha’s next lesson, Malfoy. Yer jus’ feedin’ ‘em to day. The females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies… I think they might be ter suck blood.’

‘Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive,’ said Malfoy sarcastically. ‘Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?’

Harry couldn’t admit it in front of Hagrid, but thought Draco was right. These creatures sounded awful.

. . .

To Harry's puzzlement it was as if nothing had happened during summer, in those first weeks of the schoolyear; as if Harry and Draco hadn’t shared every thought that popped into their heads at every waking hour. Malfoy was still constantly trying to rattle their bones, same as always – and particularly, Ron’s bones.

Harry, Ron and Hermione reached the entrance hall, which was packed with people queuing for dinner. They had just joined the end of the line, when a loud voice rang out behind them.

‘Weasley! Hey, Weasley!’

Harry, Ron, and Hermione turned.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing there, each looking thoroughly pleased about something.

‘What?’ said Ron shortly.

‘Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley!’ said Malfoy, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed entrance hall could hear. ‘Listen to this!’

He started reading an article about Mr. Weasley, who had responded to a false emergency call made by their new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor Moody. The reporter, Rita Skeeter, called Mr. Weasley ‘Arnold’.

Malfoy looked up. ‘Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley. It’s almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it?’ he crowed.

Everyone in the entrance hall was listening now. Malfoy straightened the paper with a flourish and read on.

To be honest, Harry didn’t understand what was so bad about the article. It was about Mr. Weasley doing his job, but this Rita Skeeter person twisted it, somehow making Mr. Weasley look bad.

‘And there’s a picture, Weasley!’ said Malfoy, flipping the paper over and holding it up. ‘A picture of your parents outside their house – if you can call it a house! Your mother could do with losing a bit of weight, couldn’t she?’

Ron was shaking with fury. Everyone was staring at him.

Harry quickly stepped in front of him. ‘Seriously, Malfoy, who hurt you? C’mon, Ron…’

Malfoy jumped up. ‘Oh yeah, you were staying with them this summer, weren’t you, Potter?’ he sneered. ‘So tell me, is his mother really that porky, or is it just the picture?’

Harry stared at him, stunned. Why did he suddenly get the feeling that this wasn’t about Ron at all?

‘You know _your_ mother, _Malfoy_?’ Harry blurted out, while both he and Hermione grabbed the back of Ron’s robes to stop him from launching himself at Malfoy – ‘that expression she’s got, like she’s got dung under her nose? Has she always looked like that, or was it just because _you_ were with her?’

Malfoy’s pale face went slightly pink. ‘Don’t you dare insult my mother, Potter.’

‘Then for _once_ keep your fat mouth shut,’ said Harry, turning away.

BANG!

Several people screamed – Harry felt something white hot graze the side of his face.

Did Draco just hex him in the back? He used to always call first; it was their unspoken rule.

For a second Harry was so shocked he couldn’t respond. Before he could even touch his wand though, he heard a second loud BANG, and a roar that echoed through the entrance hall.

‘OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!’

Harry spun around. Professor Moody was limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing.

There was a terrified silence in the entrance hall. Nobody but Moody was moving a muscle. Moody turned to look at Harry – at least, his normal eye was looking at Harry; the other one was pointing into the back of his head.

‘Did he get you?’ Moody growled. His voice was low and gravelly.

‘No,’ uttered Harry, ‘missed.’

Moody started to limp toward Crabbe, Goyle, and the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking toward the dungeons.

‘I don’t think so!’ roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again – it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upward once more.

‘No!’ Harry winced and heard himself scream. ‘Stop!’

‘I don’t like people who attack when their opponent’s back’s turned,’ growled Moody as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. ‘Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do…’

Harry had trouble breathing. ‘Turn him back!’ he yelled, pointing his wand at Moody, but not knowing what to do with it; Moody was a teacher.

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly.

‘There’s no need for this!’ Harry bellowed. ‘Turn him back!’

Nobody listened.

‘Never – do – that – again –’ said Moody, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upward again.

‘EXPELLIARMUS!’

Moody’s wand flew from his hand.

A deadly silence fell over the entrance hall. Professor Moody didn’t turn around, but Harry knew his magical eye was looking straight at him.

Harry shivered, both from hatred as from fear.

‘Professor Moody!’ said a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

‘Hello, Professor McGonagall,’ said Moody calmly. Somehow, the wand flung from Harry’s hands, as if the spell had meant nothing. Moody caught it.

‘What – what are you doing?’ said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the ferret, who was trying to run away but kept being pulled backwards by Moody’s wand.

‘Teaching,’ said Moody.

‘Teach– Moody, is that a student?’ shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

‘Yep,’ said Moody.

‘No!’ cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

‘Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!’ said Professor McGonagall. ‘Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?’

‘He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,’ said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, ‘but I thought a good sharp shock –’

‘We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!’

‘I’ll do that, then,’ said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words ‘my father’ were distinguishable.

‘Oh yeah?’ said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. ‘Well, I know your father of old, boy… You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son… you tell him that from me… Now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?’

‘Yes,’ said Malfoy resentfully.

‘Another old friend,’ growled Moody. ‘I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape… Come on, you…’

And he seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons.

Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

Harry felt a hand on his arm and become aware that he’d been clawing into Hermione’s wrist. He was shaking.

‘Don’t talk to me,’ Ron said quietly to Harry and Hermione as they sat down at the Gryffindor table a few minutes later, surrounded by excited talk on all sides about what had just happened.

‘Why not?’ said Hermione.

‘Because I want to fix that in my memory forever,’ said Ron, his eyes closed and an uplifted expression on his face. ‘Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing ferret.’

‘He could have really hurt Malfoy, though,’ Hermione said. ‘It was good, really, that Professor McGonagall stopped it –’

‘Hermione!’ said Ron furiously, his eyes snapping open again, ‘you’re ruining the best moment of my life!’

Harry understood Ron’s reaction, after everything Malfoy had done to him, he really did. But right now he couldn’t bring it to smile and agree. Instead, he made up an excuse and went outside to breathe and be alone for a bit.

. . .

The Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace given that nobody had yet discovered what they ate. Hagrid was delighted, and as part of their ‘project,’ suggested that they come down to his hut on alternate evenings to observe the skrewts and make notes on their extraordinary behavior.

‘I will not,’ said Draco Malfoy flatly when Hagrid had proposed this with the air of Father Christmas pulling an extra-large toy out of his sack. ‘I see enough of these foul things during lessons, thanks.’

Oh, how Harry wished he could have said that.

Hagrid’s smile faded off his face. ‘Yeh’ll do wha’ yer told,’ he growled, ‘or I’ll be takin’ a leaf out ta Professor Moody’s book… I hear yeh made a good ferret, Malfoy.’

Harry felt blood rushing to his head. He was starting to get pretty upset about the bad blood and the hatred going to and fro between his friends, and Harry sitting smack in between it all the time. It had been four years! When would it end?

The Gryffindors roared with laughter. Malfoy flushed with anger, but apparently the memory of Moody’s punishment was still sufficiently painful to stop him from retorting.

Harry pushed his fists in his pockets and shuffled away from everyone. He honestly couldn’t care less anymore about the horrific creatures Hagrid forced them to care about – again.

. . .

At last they found out what Malfoy had been talking about that first day on the train. There was going to be a Tri-wizard tournament: a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three Magical tasks. Only students who were of age – seventeen years or older – would be allowed to put forward their names for consideration.

In October, the heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang arrived with their short-listed contenders. Among the contenders for Durmstrang was none other than Viktor Krum.

‘Over here! Come and sit over here!’ Ron hissed. ‘Over here! Hermione, budge up, make a space!’

‘What?’

‘Too late,’ said Ron bitterly.

Viktor Krum and his fellow Durmstrang students had settled themselves at the Slytherin table. Harry could see Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle looking very smug about this. As he watched, Malfoy bent forward to speak to Krum, and something painful jabbed at Harry’s insides again.

For the umpteenth time, he wished he was at that table. Every day since Malfoy’s first letter, Harry had wished he could be with Draco, alone. It didn’t matter where, if only they could be alone.

‘Yeah, that’s right, smarm up to him, Malfoy,’ said Ron scathingly. ‘I bet Krum can see right through him, though… bet he gets people fawning over him all the time... Where d’you reckon they’re going to sleep? We could offer him a space in our dormitory, Harry… I wouldn’t mind giving him my bed, I could kip on a camp bed.’

Hermione snorted.

‘Harry?’

Harry gave a guilty start and wrenched his imagination away from a corridor in which he and Draco were quite alone —

‘What?’ he said confusedly.

The battle still raged inside his head: Draco or his friends? Sometimes he thought Ron might not mind too much if Harry got closer to Draco, but then he remembered Ron's expression when they had discussed Malfoy, with the other Weasleys, and was sure that Ron would consider it base treachery if Harry so much as talked about wanting to hold Draco’s hand... It was a good thing Ron couldn’t see the other things Harry imagined doing with Draco lately. It had gotten so much worse over summer.

Still, Harry could not help himself talking to Draco, laughing with him, finding ways to touch him; however much his conscience ached, he found himself wondering how best to get him on his own. It was very hard with Ron guarding Harry as if Draco was Harry’s worst enemy too.

Once or twice Harry considered asking for Hermione's help, but he did not think he could stand seeing the smug look on her face; he thought he caught it sometimes when Hermione spotted him staring at Malfoy or smiling at his jokes. Especially if he smiled at things Draco said when they weren’t even anywhere near him. Harry hated how little control he had over his own stupid face.

And to complicate matters, he had the nagging worry that if Harry didn't do it, somebody else was sure to snatch Draco up soon: one look at Viktor Krum made Harry certain of that.

. . .

The Tri-wizard tournament didn’t start off at all the way anyone expected, and not in the least as Harry had hoped. Somehow he got chosen as the second champion for Hogwarts, which wasn’t even supposed to be possible. His dreams of an uneventful year went up in smoke, and to top it all off, Ron thought he had wanted it all, planned this behind his back for attention, and wasn’t talking to Harry anymore.

Care of Magical Creatures meant seeing the Slytherins for the first time since becoming champion. Predictably, Draco Malfoy arrived at Hagrid’s cabin with his familiar sneer firmly in place.

‘Ah, look, boys, it’s the champion,’ he said to Crabbe and Goyle the moment he got within earshot of Harry.

At an earlier stage, Harry might have smiled, but too much had happened at this point. He felt miserable.

‘Got your autograph books?’ Draco continued when Harry didn’t respond. ‘Better get a signature now, because I doubt he’s going to be around much longer… Half the Triwizard champions have died… How long d’you reckon you’re going to last, Potter? Ten minutes into the first task’s my bet.’

Harry looked up, devastated. Something snapped and suddenly he found himself pushing and pushing Draco, and putting all of his anger and frustration into it.

‘You _know_ I didn’t want this,’ he hissed at him. ‘Ron’s not talking to me because he thinks I planned this behind his back, and I do _not_ need it from _you_!’

Draco put his hands in the air, quite casually. Then he turned his back to the group as if he wanted to back away from Harry. ‘I _know_ , Potter,’ he said. ‘I don’t _really_ want you to die.’

‘Well, _that’s_ awfully kind!’

Draco took a step closer to him. ‘Look, you hate my guts and I hate yours, let’s–…’

Harry’s heart dropped. ‘What?’

Draco blinked, looking stunned. ‘You… You can’t… Potter, you _know_ about my parents.’

Behind them everyone was laughing about something clumsy Hagrid was doing. Quickly, Harry dragged Malfoy out of everyone’s sight, behind the cabin. There, he pushed him again, into the side of the cabin, just for good measure.

‘I _wrote_ to you all summer, right?’ he hissed. ‘Was that not you?!’

Draco seemed to enjoy Harry’s anger. ‘I told you, it was Tom Riddle.’

‘Dra!’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Alright, calm down, Harry, you know perfectly well it was me.’

Harry breathed.

‘But that was _before_ ,’ said Draco.

Harry stared at him. That look of discomfort bordering embarrassment was definitely not a look Harry liked on his friend.

‘I don’t care,’ Harry said. It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t _untrue_ either. ‘ _You_ didn’t do those things, right?’

Draco put his hands in his pocket and leaned his back against the cabin wall. He didn’t answer.

Harry scowled. ‘Snape hates me because of my dad, I am not going to be like him. You're not your parents, Malfoy.’

‘Yeah, right,’ Draco scoffed.

Harry stared at him from top to bottom, he couldn’t help himself. The pale wrists sticking out of the pockets of Draco’s tailormade pants; the sleeves off his tightfitting blouse rolled up, showing his forearms; the top buttons of his blouse loose, showing his collarbones. And Draco’s eyes… were staring straight into Harry’s. They made Harry feel like butter in the sun.

‘You know what I am,’ Draco said, sounding way too vulnerable to Harry’s taste. ‘Where I come from. And the _way_ I am.’

Harry slumped against the wall next to Draco. ‘I do, yeah,’ he nodded. ‘You’re a real bitch.’

Draco snorted.

Harry smiled. He longed to admit how much he enjoyed having Draco around, but he knew he shouldn’t. He’d never hear the end of it, for starters, and he shouldn’t – he _really_ shouldn’t – become close to his friends’ worst enemy.

‘You want to go to the Yule ball with me?’ Draco whispered.

Harry jumped to his feet. Wide-eyed he stared at Malfoy while his stomach tightened and twirled and, quite frankly, made him nauseous - in the best possible way.

It took him a long time to process the question, but about halfway through processing he already caught himself whispering, ‘Yes.’

This answer seemed to surprise Draco even more than Harry.

‘Okay,’ confirmed Harry seconds later, after fully processing. ‘God yes. I mean: hell yeah. Yes, please.’ He quickly jammed his jaws together before anything more would come out.

Draco laughed his familiar jeering laugh. ‘That’s affirmative then, Potter?’

Harry couldn’t stop grinning. Going to the ball with Draco Malfoy: it sounded like such a laugh – and such a heavenly way to be alone with him.

He looked away, smiling like an idiot, and leaned back against the cabin wall, careful to bump into Draco’s shoulder.

Then the size of it all started to dawn on him.

People…

They would… see them. Together. They would know. They’d know he liked evil Draco Malfoy, whom everyone hated.

Ron would find out. What would he say? And… didn’t Harry like Cho? He did, right? He’d been wanting to ask her. She’d be a way better choice than…

Than…

‘Second thoughts?’ asked Draco.

Harry nervously ruffled through his hair. He felt sick. ‘Yes.’

‘Yeah…’ Draco drawled. ‘People will talk.’

Harry laughed at this brief summary of his feelings; it sounded like a nervous giggle.

Draco scowled. ‘I hope you didn’t let Ron buy you one of those ghastly suits.’

Harry snorted. ‘Nah… I planned to… to wear that Christmas jumper you love so much, with–...’

‘With leggings?’

Harry burst out laughing. He quickly stifled it, but it was too late. Hagrid showed up and forced them to rejoin the class. Harry wasn’t ready yet to share Draco again, but Draco let out an exasperated sigh and slowly made his way back to the group.

Harry touched his hand. ‘Maybe ask me again next week?’

‘Forget it, Potter… _If_ you’re still alive next week it’s on you to ask me.’

This time, Harry did smile.

‘The only solution,’ they heard Hagrid telling the class, ‘is to take them for a short walk.’

It distracted Malfoy completely. ‘Take this thing for a walk?’ he repeated in disgust, staring into one of the boxes. ‘And where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?’

Harry enjoyed having him around so much.

. . .

When Harry and Hermione arrived at Snape’s dungeon a few weeks later, they found the Slytherins waiting outside, each and every one of them wearing a large badge on the front of his or her robes. For one wild moment Harry thought they were S.P.E.W. badges – then he saw that they all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage: SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY THE REAL HOGWARTS CHAMPION!

‘Like them, Potter?’ said Malfoy loudly as Harry approached. ‘And this isn’t all they do – look!’

He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green: POTTER STINKS!

Harry snorted as the Slytherins howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around Harry.

He felt the heat rise in his face and neck. It was pretty intense.

‘Dra…’ Harry got closer to him. ‘How did you even make those? How long did you spend on this?’

Draco’s nose shot in the air, proud as the first time they met.

‘Oh very funny,’ Hermione loudly interrupted their moment, glaring at Pansy Parkinson and her gang of Slytherin girls, who were laughing harder than anyone, ‘really witty.’

Ron was standing against the wall with Dean and Seamus. He wasn’t laughing, but he wasn’t sticking up for Harry either.

‘Want one, Granger?’ said Malfoy, holding out a badge to Hermione. ‘I’ve got loads. But don’t touch my hand, now. I’ve just washed it, you see; don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.’

Harry stepped away. ‘Alright, mate, you ruined it.’

Draco looked affronted. ‘How _dare_ you call me _mate_!’

Suddenly, Ron appeared in front of them, pointing his wand at Malfoy. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor.

‘Ron!’ Hermione said warningly.

‘Go on, then, Weasley,’ Malfoy said quietly, drawing out his own wand. ‘Moody’s not here to look after you now – do it, if you’ve got the guts.’

‘Dra, don’t–…’

At exactly the same time, both acted.

‘Funnunculus!’ Ron yelled.

‘Densaugeo!’ screamed Malfoy.

Jets of light shot from both wands, hit eachother in midair, and ricocheted off at angles – Ron’s hit Goyle in the face, and Malfoy’s hit Hermione.

Goyle bellowed and put his hands to his nose, where great ugly boils were springing up – Hermione, whimpering in panic, was clutching her mouth.

‘Hermione!’ Ron had hurried forward to see what was wrong with her; Harry turned and saw Ron dragging Hermione’s hand away from her face.

It wasn’t a pretty sight. Hermione’s front teeth – already larger than average – were now growing at an alarming rate; she was looking more and more like a beaver as her teeth elongated, past her bottom lip, toward her chin – panic-stricken, she felt them and let out a terrified cry.

‘And what is all this noise about?’ said a soft, deadly voice.

Snape had arrived. The Slytherins clamored to give their explanations; Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Malfoy and said, ‘Explain.’

‘Ron attacked me, sir –’

‘They attacked each other at the same time!’ Harry shouted.

Ron was shaking with anger, and for a moment, it felt as though everything was back to normal between Harry and him, but when they entered the classroom, Ron turned and sat down with Dean and Seamus, leaving Harry alone at his table.

Harry felt angry with Draco for provoking this entire situation. He was staring at his lonely table as if trying to melt it with his gaze, when suddenly, he jumped. He’d felt something at the back of his neck and turned quickly. No one was even near him, but he was sure… It was like… like someone _kissed_ him? Was he losing his –…?

On the other side of the dungeon, Malfoy had turned his back on Snape and pressed his badge, smirking, wand in hand. ‘Potter stinks’ flashed once more across the room.

Harry _needed_ to learn that spell.

. . .

After Harry beat the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, Ron turned round to him, thankfully. Harry had missed his best friend.

Meanwhile, the Yule ball came closer and closer. Ron and Hermione assumed Harry didn’t have a date yet, since he didn’t ask Cho in time. They never asked him though; which was lucky, otherwise Harry was sure he’d either have to lie or lose both his friends.

Luckily, Ron was too distracted to ask Harry about it, ever since he found out Hermione had a date and she didn’t want to say who it was.

‘Hermione – who are you going to the ball with?’

Ron kept springing this question on her, hoping to startle her into a response by asking it when she least expected it.

However, Hermione merely frowned and said, ‘I’m not telling you, you’ll just make fun of me.’

‘You’re joking, Weasley!’ said Malfoy, behind them. ‘You’re not telling me someone’s asked _that_ to the ball? Not the long-molared Mudblood?’

Harry and Ron both whipped around, but Hermione said loudly, waving to some body over Malfoy’s shoulder, ‘Hello, Professor Moody!’

Malfoy went pale and jumped backward, looking wildly around for Moody, but he was still up at the staff table, finishing his stew.

‘Twitchy little ferret, aren’t you, Malfoy?’ said Hermione scathingly.

‘You deserved that one, mate,’ said Harry, and he, Ron and Hermione went up the marble staircase laughing heartily.

Draco Malfoy’s voice echoed through the entrance hall: ‘I’m not your _mate_ , Potter!’

Harry had found a spell book describing Draco’s kissing spell and had been practicing in secret for hours on end, firing kiss after kiss on his own arm until he’d quite mastered it, if he said so himself.

He aimed his wand at Draco’s nose, and grinned as a pink tinge spread on his boy’s face.

. . .

Harry didn’t know how he even managed to fall asleep the night before the Yule ball. With the next Triwizard task to worry about – which he should absolutely have been worried about – he was thinking about Draco Malfoy.

They hadn’t spoken about the ball anymore since Draco asked him during Care of Magical Creatures – not even once. Harry wasn’t sure if they were even still on for it. Draco could have easily asked Pansy in the meantime, perhaps he had. Or worse, maybe this had all been one big scheme to make fun of Harry.

No, Harry knew it wasn’t. He’d been listening in on people’s conversations, eavesdropping the Slytherins whenever he could. He’d heard people saying Draco was being picky. He’d refused everyone who asked him, Harry’d heard to his great delight. He was being a prat about it too, saying nobody at this school was even close to good enough for a Malfoy. He’d been telling everyone he doubted he would go to ‘that ridiculous charade’ anyway, saying it was horribly tacky and bad form all round according to the high standards of the Malfoys – or something like that. Nobody seemed to take it seriously.

Meanwhile, most people appeared to be under the impression that Harry was going with one of the Parvati sisters; most people, except for the Parvati sisters themselves. They were going with Ron and some Hufflepuff fellow. Harry never even confirmed the rumor, simply because nobody’d asked him. Somehow they just assumed that if Ron went with one of the sisters, Harry would be going with the other.

He wasn’t.

Harry Potter was going with _Draco Malfoy_.

Harry tossed and turned, that night before the ball.

How would he ever pull this off? Everybody hated Malfoy. Even Harry hated Malfoy most of the times.

Well, not most of the times… Sometimes.

Rarely, actually…

In fact, he quite liked Malfoy.

He pictured Draco in a suit – it didn’t do anything to calm his nerves.

Eventually Harry’s nerves tired him out so badly he fell asleep, and the next day he almost forgot all about the entire thing. There were Christmas presents to distract him, and Dobby the house-elf, snowball fights…

Before he knew it Ron, Neville, Dean, Seamus and Harry were changing into their dress robes up in their dormitory, all of them looking very self-conscious, but none as much as Ron, who surveyed himself in the long mirror in the corner with an appalled look on his face. There was just no getting around the fact that his robes looked more like a dress than anything else. In a desperate attempt to make them look more manly, he used a Severing Charm on the ruff and cuffs. It worked fairly well; at least he was now lace-free, although he hadn’t done a very neat job, and the edges still looked depressingly frayed as the boys set off downstairs.

With every step closer to the Great Hall, Harry felt increasingly more sick.

‘You alright, mate?’ asked Ron, as the buzz off the people gathering in the Entrance Hall reached the staircase they were descending.

‘N-no… I… I need to pee,’ Harry blurted out. ‘You go, I’ll meet you there.’

And Harry Potter bolted.

Harry didn’t run away from a dragon; he didn’t run from Voldemort, but a public date with Draco Malfoy… that was where Harry’s Gryffindorian bravery drew the line.

Somewhere between the Entrance Hall and the Gryffindor common room, Harry took a secret passageway and found himself on one of the moving staircases that didn’t really lead anywhere.

And he sat down.

He breathed.

His bravery would come back in a moment, he was certain. It was after all just a dance. Although he’d never danced a day in his life… But they’d had lessons.

The dancing wasn’t the problem, Harry knew. It was the eyes, the opinions. The hatred. Oh, the hatred…

He had been _there_ for all of it _,_ ever since the bitter beginning. Still, he couldn’t understand why everyone hated Draco Malfoy so much.

Sure, he could be a git, a bastard, a brat, a merciless pain in the neck, but it wasn’t… he wasn’t…

Harry sighed.

He was also so much more than that.

Groaning, Harry hid his head under his arms and bawled a bad word into the empty staircase. It echoed around him.

The bravery did not return that night.

‘Scared, Potter?’

Harry jumped. On the bottom step of the staircase was Draco Malfoy, draped over the banister as if it was just any other day at Hogwarts, the only difference being their clothes.

Draco’s dress robes were velvet, with a high collar which looked to Harry as if he’d put it up like models did in perfume commercials. 

With his hands in his pockets, Draco swaggered up the moving stairs. ‘You butter me up with talk about jumpers and leggings and then you wear that?’

Harry looked down at his simple, bottle green dress robes. ‘You don’t like them?’

Draco sat down next to Harry. ‘I didn’t say that.’

Harry thought Draco looked wonderful, deserving to be shown around downstairs, at the arm of someone worthy.

‘I’m so sorry I’m late,’ said Harry. He ran his hands through his hair, forgetting completely how he’d tried so hard to make it look neat for once. ‘We should–, we shouldn’t miss the opening dance.’

‘Oh I’m quite sure we have, Potter,’ said Draco. ‘That was an hour ago.’

Harry looked up and groaned. ‘Oh _no_. Draco, I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry.’

‘Oh, stop it, Potter, that vulgar dance is an affront to the entire concept of a _ball_ , and to be honest, I wasn’t looking forward to the… the _looks_ either.’

Harry let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

‘I prefer to have you to myself anyway,’ Draco continued casually.

Harry felt every muscle in his body relax as a strange warmth spread through him.

‘You do?’ he whispered. ‘I-I know what you mean.’

‘Splendid… Come along then, Potter.’

Anxiously, Harry took the hand Draco held out for him, as if it was a regular thing to do: holding the hand of Draco Malfoy. It felt like it was though, as if their hands belonged together. Malfoy’s fingers were cool between Harry’s sweaty ones.

Harry braced himself, but instead of going down to the Great Hall, Draco started climbing the stairs.

Not until they reached a doorless corridor did Draco let go of Harry’s hand.

‘Don’t move.’

Confused, Harry watched Draco pace up and down the corridor, a concentrated look on his face that Harry had seen many times before during Potions class. Then suddenly a door appeared in the wall and Draco’s eyes lit up. He opened it and with the noblest of expressions he gestured for Harry to go in. ‘Saints first,’ he said and Harry laughed.

Sometimes Harry laughed just to see the look of satisfaction on Draco’s face. Draco Malfoy was a challenge to satisfy in any other way.

As Harry stepped through the door, he felt his jaw drop.

He stepped into the Great Hall, but it was deserted. The walls had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, all empty. Along the sides were tables filled with food and drinks, and there was music coming from an unknown source, but just as loud as Harry supposed it was downstairs in the real Great Hall.

‘How-how-…’

‘Like it?’ Malfoy asked, flinging his cloak aside and putting his hands in his pockets.

‘Blimey Dra, how do you do these things?’ Harry couldn’t help but moan. ‘How are you so good at _everything_?’

Malfoy let out a short, derisive laugh. ‘It’s my upbringing, I’m sure.’ He swaggered away. ‘Can I offer you a drink, Potter?’

Harry felt a weird tingling in his stomach and he bowed at Draco. ‘You may,’ he answered as posh as he could.

Malfoy smiled as he handed Harry a drink.

‘This is perfect,’ Harry said, slouching against the table, gazing at the marvel all around him.

Still, Harry couldn’t stop worrying. ‘Do you think I’ll get into trouble for not turning up to do the opening dance?’

‘Harry Potter, scared of getting into trouble?’ sneered Draco.

‘Wonderful saint Potter,’ Harry quoted him, suddenly remembering the exact words he’d heard Draco use when talking to his dad. ‘We _did_ practice ages on it. On that dance… Seems like such a waste now.’

‘My god, Harry, if you _want_ to do the dance just say it.’

Harry thought about it, looking unseeing at Draco’s legs.

‘How though? We only learned the men’s steps.’ He looked up. ‘We couldn’t even have done the dance!’

Draco Malfoy lifted an eyebrow. ‘Think again.’

Harry waited, but nothing followed.

‘Well?’ Draco demanded haughtily.

Harry jumped to his feet ‘Sorry.’ He held out his hand. ‘Draco, _mate_ –…’

‘NO!’ Malfoy crossed his arms and Harry let out a great whoop of laughter, his head in his neck. Then he grabbed Draco’s hand and pulled him to the brightly lit dancefloor.

Then he looked at their hands, their feet, and his mind went blank.

Malfoy seized one of Harry’s hands, placed it around his waist and held the other in his own. They started out slowly revolving at the spot – so far so good –, but as the dance progressed, Harry stared at their feet more and more. The dress robes were making it very hard not to trip and Draco was making him ever so nervous. He was way better at this than Harry – as always – and felt distractingly good under Harry’s hands. They were so close.

At last, the song stopped and they were allowed to break apart. Finally, Harry could look up from his feet into Draco’s wonderfully gray eyes, and he saw his own exhaustion reflected in them.

Malfoy wiped off his forehead and dusted his hands. ‘My god, Potter, I thought it would never end.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Harry said, panting. ‘Everything for the fans.’

At once, Draco started bowing to the invisible public, so Harry lifted his invisible hat in response to the invisible applause.

As Malfoy was rolling up his sleeves, Harry took off his cloak, so he was able to move without tripping.

‘At the risk of repeating myself,’ said Harry, while kicking his robes away from the dance floor, ‘but how do you know the girls steps to that dance?’

‘At the risk of repeating myself,’ Draco replied. ‘It’s my upbringing. Got taught how to dance before I got taught how to walk.’

‘Aha…’ mumbled Harry.

Trying not to think too much about Draco being this close to lots of people before Harry – girls and boys apparently – he took Draco’s hand and spun him around. ‘Payed off.’

Malfoy squeezed his hand. 'Well then,' he said. ‘Now that that's done... we can finally go berserk – woo!’ He waved his hands and danced around his axis. As the music picked up speed, Draco Malfoy started to jump. He grabbed Harry’s hand and lifted his arm to whirl underneath it like a ballerina.

Harry had no idea how to go berserk on music, but seeing Draco making a fool of himself inspired him to give it his best shot. At first, he felt highly uneasy, bopping his head, shaking his shoulders, but when Draco didn’t even seem to look at him, Harry started to make his movements bigger and bigger. It probably wasn’t actual dancing what he was doing – shaking his head and waving his arms and jumping around – but he started having actual fun. Draco was laughing and screaming like a banshee – and Harry was happy.

Gradually their dance slowed down as their energy levels dropped. Draco was still smiling like Harry’d never seen him before, but he wasn’t screaming and jumping anymore. So Harry reeled Draco in, placing one of the boy’s arms around his neck. To Harry’s great joy, Draco lay his head on Harry’s shoulder, exhausted.

They were delightfully close.

Harry nervously put his hand on Draco’s waist, like he’d had during their official dance – lightly, not even touching Draco at first, as if he wasn’t sure it was allowed.

Harry’s other hand was playing with Malfoy’s fingers. He had lovely fingers, Draco Malfoy. Cool and slender; like running your hands through the gravel on a pebbly beach.

They were swaying slightly at the music, revolving sluggishly at the spot. And for the first time in forever, Harry’s mind was completely empty.

After a while, Draco’s fingers started moving up Harry’s neck, into his hair. As careful as Harry’d been with Draco’s waist, Draco warily played with Harry’s hair, slowly running his fingers through it and, after a while, gently pulling it.

It encouraged Harry to move his hand on Draco’s waist down, just a nudge, just to pull up the shirt and run his thumb over Draco’s bare skin. Malfoy’s hand disappeared entirely into Harry’s hair then, and without thinking about it Harry slid his hand entirely under Draco’s shirt.

He didn’t dare do much more than running his thumb, maybe his fingertips, over Draco’s skin. Still, he felt dizzy with happiness.

Harry didn’t know how long they were standing like that, leaning against each other like it was a basic necessity of life.

At some point Draco let go of him. He cleared his throat, avoiding Harry’s eyes. ‘Potter, I’m _parched_.’

To Harry’s delight, Draco tried to pour in drinks while refusing to let go of Harry’s hand.

‘I can do this,’ Draco muttered when Harry tried to help.

‘I don’t doubt it at this point,’ Harry grinned. ‘It’s just… needlessly difficult.’

‘ _You’re_ needlessly difficult.’

Draco pushed a drink in Harry’s hand and sat down on the table again.

‘It’s a fairly quiet ball, isn’t it,’ he said, looking around the empty hall. ‘They should have promoted it more. Nothing to make a party flop as much as bad PR, what do you think?’

‘I think you’re rambling.’

‘How _dare_ you, Potter, I never _ramble_. I _remark_.’ He lifted his chin. The lights were back in his eyes. ‘I _observe_. I–…’

Laughing and happy, Harry grabbed Malfoy’s face and pressed his mouth against Malfoy’s skin. ‘Shut _up_ , Dra.’

‘ – make conversation…’

Malfoy smirked. Harry couldn't and didn't want to stop himself anymore. He leaned in and kissed Draco's lips. They felt soft and made Harry's skin tingle.

‘Mmmglad they did so bad,’ Draco kept right on saying.

Harry laughed nervously. This didn't go at all the way he'd planned it in all of his elaborate fantasies. He looked at Draco to see if he wanted Harry to never touch him again and to never even mention this whole evening ever again. But Draco was staring at Harry’s lips. ‘Otherwise –…’

Harry kissed him again, but Draco Malfoy was not to be silenced. ‘ – Saint Potter’d be all over the news again!’ 

Harry laughed, and then Draco Malfoy kissed _him_. His fingers touched Harry’s face as he planted a dozen tiny kisses on every part of Harry’s mouth, smirk somehow still in place.

Harry noticed himself standing in a highly uncomfortable position. Trying to rearrange himself, he lost his balance and his forehead slammed into Draco’s nose.

‘OUCH!’ howled Draco, clutching his nose. ‘You _oaf_!’

Thankfully, he was also roaring with laughter. Harry groaned in embarassment.

‘How did you _ever_ manage to defeat the Dark Lord – twice?! It’s a mystery to me!’

This wasn't at all how their first kiss should go! Harry sucked, he felt awful.

To make sure he didn't fall again, Harry held onto Draco’s legs and dragged them around his waist, to help Harry stay upright between them. Then he took Draco’s hand away from his face and proceeded to kiss his nose, spiraling from the tip of it to the edges.

‘Oh,’ Draco breathed. ‘Harry, you’ve got _moves_.’

At once, Harry broke out of it and cracked up again. ‘Dra, I’m _begging_ you! Shut _up_!’

Draco’s jeering face got softer than Harry’d ever seen it before. Quickly, he dropped his gaze, but Harry’d already seen it. He nuzzled his nose.

Right at that moment, the lights went off. All at once. Startled, Draco clung to Harry, which Harry thought was a marvelous first reaction.

Only then did they notice the music had stopped, perhaps long ago.

Downstairs, the ball must have been over. They were sitting in the dark, blinking, waiting for their eyes to get used to the lack of light.

Harry leaned his forehead against Draco’s, wailing. ‘Oooh, I wasted so much time.’

‘Let’s go to the astronomy tower,’ hissed Draco. He picked up Harry’s face, his jeering eyes looking at Harry’s. ‘ _To the stars_!’

Harry felt a heave of relief to realize he did one thing right this evening: he took his invisibility cloak. It’d felt comforting to know he could disappear from the ball if need be – turned out it actually came in handy.

Draco was suitably impressed when Harry threw the cloak over the two of them. He didn’t say anything, just softly touched it, examined it, which was the highest compliment in the Malfoys’ books.

They passed groups of students and several _pairs_ of students. Malfoy kept wanting to bother them or make snide remarks, so Harry did a Silencio around the cloak and kept pulling Draco like an untrained dog on a leash.

‘Come _on_ , Dra, keep your eye on the prize.’

‘Are _you_ the prize, Potter?’ he snarled.

Harry turned round to shoot him a look, which made Draco smirk – and look away. For a solid minute he remained silent.

Harry didn’t enjoy it. ‘What are you thinking, Draconius?’

‘You’re such a big deal, Potter.’

Harry burst out laughing.

Draco kept quiet and for a second, Harry worried that he might actually have intimidated Draco Malfoy somehow – but then:

‘It’s really only _natural_ you picked me,’ Draco scoffed.

Harry hooked his fingers around the top of Draco’s trousers to pull him close, and kissed him on the cheek.

‘I don’t know why we’d even hide it, Scarhead, we’re easily the only ones in this school in _our league_.’

‘Oh yeah, totally,’ said Harry. ‘We’re so much better than _everyone_ here, us two. By far.’

‘Miles above them, in every possible way.’

‘We could replace the teachers in a heartbeat if we wanted, right?’

‘Without a shred of doubt!’

‘You’re a brat, Malfoy.’

At last they reached the astronomy tower. Draco used an intricate spell to make the tiles feel soft and warm – colouring Harry impressed once again – and they lay down underneath the invisibility cloak – to watch the stars.

Draco tried to show Harry his constellation – the Draco-constellation – but Harry was useless and couldn’t find it.

To the sound of one of Draco’s marvelous lectures, Harry drifted off.

. . .

Harry awoke with a jolt. Sunlight was beating on his face and next to him, Draco Malfoy was swearing profusely, struggling to remove himself from the invisibility cloak.

‘Harry, it’s _light_!’ he hissed.

Harry got up on an elbow, sleepily helping Draco get free from the cloak.

It was light? What a funny thing to say.

Malfoy stared at him furiously. _‘Putain de merde_ , it’s _light_ , Potter!’ He seemed to want to slap the sky in the face. ‘You dung brain, we haven’t returned to our dorms!’

‘Oh.’ Slowly Harry grasped the situation. His eyes widened. ‘Oh!’

‘How will you explain?!’

Harry wrecked his brain. ‘We were sick? Wait, how will _I_ explain? Don’t you?’

‘Oh, I’ll tell some blatant lie and nobody will listen, but _you_ …’

‘I’m a big deal,’ Harry added, but Draco did not smile. ‘I’ll figure it out, Dra. You know, I _have_ lied before.’

‘Did you then?’ Malfoy scoffed. ‘And how did that work out for you?’

Harry seized his collar and hauled him down for a kiss. ‘It got me to the stars with Draco Malfoy.’ Harry smiled.

‘Oh you’re a-… y-you’re a… a problem, I got to leave.’

And with that Draco ran away, down the stairs, not looking back once.

It didn’t matter; Harry was on cloud nine. Underneath the invisibility cloak he floated down the stairs of the castle. He was starving.

Thankfully he still had the sensibility to change into his normal clothes, instead of walking into the Great Hall wearing last night’s dress robes. That would probably have attracted attention.

His dormitory was empty. He figured everyone was already at the Great Hall having breakfast. After changing quickly he went down the marble staircase, tried to walk in as casually as he could and sat down next to Ron and Hermione.

To his dread, he noticed people pointing at him anyway, whispering behind his back.

‘Harry!’ shouted Hermione. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you!’

‘I’ve been sick.’ The lie came out as smooth as if he’d been lying to his best friends every day of his life.

Hermione looked at him suspiciously. ‘You weren’t at the Hospital Wing.’

‘Oh, yeah… I-… I was at the toilet.’

‘What, all night?’ said Ron.

Harry took a deep breath and nodded, stuffing his plate. ‘I’m starving. How was the ball? What did I miss?’

Ron and Hermione were staring at him as if they tried to read his mind. He had never lied to them before. It didn’t feel right, but he just couldn’t tell them he’d been spending the night kissing, dancing and sleeping with their very worst enemy. He wished he could, but he felt so happy he didn’t want to ruin it with lectures about how Draco was not to be trusted.

Ron shook his head. ‘You know what, I don’t want to know.’

They started telling him about a conversation they overheard between Madame Maxim and Hagrid, and Harry sighed a breath of relief.

When he had wolfed down enough food for the entire day, he lazily slouched back. Ron and Hermione were telling Harry everything he’d missed at the Yule Ball, and soon, even Fred and George and Dean and Seamus joined in. It turned out Harry had missed loads of hilarious things and they were all giggling in no time. Hermione got some Christmas pudding from the leftover table and she, Ron and Harry leaned over to share. It was the perfect ending to the perfect night.

‘I don’t trust what Malfoy’s up to,’ Seamus said, and Harry’s ears pricked up. ‘All the Slytherins were at the ball last night, except for him.’

As one, the heads of Ron and Hermione shot up, and Harry snatched out his wand. ‘Silencio!’

He bolted.

. . .

Thankfully, neither Hermione nor Ron ever mentioned it again. Apparently, they made an unspoken deal: they wouldn’t ask if Harry spent the night with Draco Malfoy, and he wouldn’t ask them about the jealous fight Fred and George said they had after the Yule Ball.

The trouble was that Harry’s lie didn’t stop after the Yule Ball. He kept longing to be with Draco, and Draco kept pulling him into passageways, behind statues and into empty classrooms, sometimes snatching him right from under Ron and Hermione’s noses. He’d learned some kind of lasso spell that would wrap around Harry’s wrist, so he could be pulled anywhere Draco wanted.

If he had a sensible day Draco would trip Harry or throw something at him, so that Harry got behind on the others and they could sneak away somewhat unnoticed. Draco did not have a lot of sensible days.

One time Harry was in a packed library. Admittedly, everyone’s noses were glued to their books, eyes fixated on their homework, and no one could sneak around as quietly as Draco could – but yanking Harry’s head back in passing just to plant a kiss on his forehead still wasn’t Harry’s idea of being subtle. Especially because Harry’s face looked like Ron’s hair and he couldn’t sit still for a long, long time after.

Draco kept assuring Harry that everybody knew about them anyway, but Harry wasn’t so sure. Nobody ever mentioned it.

Harry’s idea of being subtle was pressing little notes in Draco’s hand to meet him in an empty classroom or corridor, or – his favourite – at the astronomy tower.

One rainy Sunday afternoon, as a form of revenge for Draco’s carelessness around other Griffyndors, Harry wandered into the Slytherin common room unannounced. The room was crammed with bored Slytherins, stuck inside the castle to hide from the weather.

Harry was prepared to be attacked, to be shouted at or at least to be stared at. None of that happened. The Slytherins saw him and got on with their daily business. One of them pointed him to a chair, another one yelled: ‘Draco, your boy!’

Malfoy looked around a chair by the fire. ‘Harry! What are you doing here?’

Harry strolled over to him and spotted a bowl of marshmallows by the fireplace. He put one on a stick and started roasting it. ‘Couldn’t find you anywhere else, Mister Malfoy.’

Draco fell back into his chair, looking like a ribbon in the wind to Harry.

‘I have to study,’ he said, picking up a vampire novel.

Harry sat down and slouched against Draco’s legs, roasting his marshmallow. After a while, Draco started playing with his hair and running his fingers along Harry’s ear and neck.

Harry felt wonderful. The first marshmallows all burnt to ashes, because he kept closing his eyes.

When at last a marshmallow was perfectly done, Harry tore it open and let it cool down enough that he could touch it without burning himself. Then he casually got up – and he stuffed it in Draco’s face. The noise he made was deafening.

Harry was crying with laughter, and so was a big part of the Slytherin common room. Harry even saw Pansy laughing.

‘You’ve got some nerve, Potter!’ bellowed Draco. ‘You come into my house–…’

The sticky goo got everywhere. He had to go to the dormitories to clean it up. Harry hurried after him, to help.

. . .

On a sunny day in February, Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting outside, going over their History of Magic notes. Hermione was reading to them what she thought were the most important points for their next exam, when Harry heard his favourite sound in the world.

‘There’s not even going to be a Tournament, what’s the point?’

Draco was swaggering after the Slytherin Quidditch team, sulking by the looks of it. He was in full Quidditch uniform and shouldering his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

They were going in the direction of the Quidditch field. Were they continuing to have practice?

Draco wearing his Quidditch uniform never failed to do weird things to Harry. Before he could help himself he casted a slapping charm on his ass.

Malfoy jumped and glanced around wildly for the culprit.

Quickly, trying not to laugh, Harry turned his head back to Ron and Hermione, but Draco’d already caught sight of him.

Harry flinched, regretting his action, certain that Draco would do something stupid in revenge. To his surprise though, he only felt a kissing charm in his neck. When he turned around, Draco was out of sight, along with the other Slytherins. Harry frowned. 

‘Earth to Harry,’ said Hermione.

Harry returned to his History notes. ‘I’m listening,’ he mumbled.

‘As I was saying,’ continued Hermione haughtily.

If Harry leaned a little to the right, he might catch a glance at the Quidditch field, he thought.

‘The First Great Uprising of the year 1205 – …’

Yes! Harry saw a tiny blonde figure, floating in the sky. He squinted his eyes and leaned to the right just a nudge more to keep Draco in his vision. He seemed to be shouting something, his whole body was in it: hanging back with his hand around his mouth like a horn. Harry leaned slightly more to the right –

Suddenly Harry felt a jab at his shoulder and he instantly lost his balance, collapsing sloppily in the grass. Ron was laughing with his arms around his stomach. Harry shot up as quick as he could.

‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘Go on, Hermione. I’m listening.’

‘You want to check out the competition?’ asked Ron with a big grin. ‘Need to know what we’re up against next year, don’t you think?’

Harry had never felt so grateful for his best friend. He glanced at Hermione, who sighed. ‘I suppose we could do this anywhere…’

Harry swept up his books and jumped to his feet. ‘Come on, if we’re quick we might catch them discussing strategies!’

Ron and Hermione weren’t quite as quick as he’d like.

‘Harry?’ Hermione asked as they followed him at a stroll. ‘What do you like about him?’

Harry startled. His shoulders tensed up. ‘Yeah, I know you hate him. Let’s not discuss it.’

‘No Harry, I meant it as a question, I really want to know. I think we might be… missing something. Or not seeing him as you do.’

Harry didn’t doubt it. He glanced around at the two of them and saw them looking back with seemingly genuine interest.

‘Well… he’s not the same to you as he is with me…’ he admitted.

They’d reached the Quidditch field and started to climb the stands. It gave Harry a reason to stall answering the question.

As soon as they sat down though, Hermione pressed on, saying, ‘Well?’

With a sigh, Harry ran his hands through his hair, searching the sky for his boy. He found him without really trying. He was constantly aware of Draco. 

The first reasons to like Draco that popped into Harry’s head were all physical. He assumed Ron and Hermione had no trouble seeing those as clearly as Harry did.

‘He’s…’ he started, feeling highly uncomfortable discussing his feelings so openly. He glanced aside at his friends. ‘You promise you won’t get mad? Or jealous? You two are my best friends.’

They promised. Harry took a deep breath. ‘And your sure you want to know?’

‘We need to understand, mate,’ said Ron.

‘Alright then…’

Harry took a moment to think. Where to start?

‘It’s just different with him… I can be another part of myself with him. He doesn’t mind if I’m angry or if I insult him. I can say anything to him, either he doesn’t care or he even likes it. He instantly goes along with me, no matter what I do or say or feel. It’s all alright with him.’

Harry squinted his eyes to try and see Draco’s expression, but he was too far away. Shame.

‘And he’s incredibly clever, you wouldn’t believe. It’s not you’re sort of brilliance of course, Hermione, but it’s up there. It’s more… practical. He wants to be able to do everything, to have every ability. He speaks three languages, and I’m trying to teach him Parseltongue now. He can write with both his left and with his right hand, he plays violin, piano, drums and clarinet. He says he sucks at it, but I’m sure he’s great. He’s great at everything, because he’s always two seconds away from being bored. An otherworldly level of bored: pulling-your-hair-out, maddeningly bored. One time in the library he stopped snogging to say: “Four hundred and twenty three,” and checked the answer in his Arithmancy book. I’m laughing the whole time when he’s around. He can make me laugh with just a look.’

He was on fire now, following Draco with his eyes and ranting without even thinking about it. He never realised how much he needed to vent all this.

‘He’s a completely different person than anyone I know, and such a weird mix of rough and gentle. He’s not careful with me at all, as if he completely trusts me to be able to handle him. It makes me feel… invincible. But when he goes too far he gets all worried, and in this weirdly angry way. He’s even rough in his gentleness, getting upset with whatever hurt me and fixing me up in this passive aggressive manner, as if to prove that this is not “up to scratch” or whatever. His words are funny too. I’ve never heard him say sorry for anything, cause he never blames himself. One time he blamed evolution for giving him nails, or his muscles for making him so strong.’ Harry laughed. ‘He’s very creative… Ah man, look at him go.’

Harry was leaning his arms on the banister, resting his chin on his elbow, and watched Draco spin through the air and making loop-the-loops for no reason at all.

‘He works his butt off to impress the world, every second of every day.’

Ron had put his feet up on the banister and listened with crossed arms and a frown on his forehead. Hermione had a similar frown, but appeared to be processing Harry’s explanation, as if she tried to alter her whole view of the world.

‘His name alone though,’ Harry went on and on. ‘Dra-co-Mal-foy… You just couldn’t make him up – with his hair and his eyes and his…’ He let out a deep, deep sigh. ‘Oh, I’m so totally…’

‘Screwed,’ offered Ron.

Hermione giggled. ‘Smitten.’

Harry hid his face in his arms. ‘At his mercy.’

‘Hey! Potter!’

Harry’s head shot up.

‘Look alive!’

So Harry straightened his back and saluted Mister Malfoy.

The Slytherin team captain yelled at Draco to keep his attention on their practice, but Draco pretended not to hear. He flattened himself on his broom and shot over to Harry at full speed. He didn’t seemed intent to slow down, but Harry was determined not to flinch.

At the last second, Draco shot past Harry, but yanked the glasses from Harry’s face, laughing like a maniac.

Harry jumped up, but couldn’t see a thing without his glasses.

‘Practice your senses, blind man!’ jeered Malfoy.

Harry focussed on the noise Draco made while circling around him. ‘Merlin, Potter, I can’t see shit through – ’

He leaped, quick as a cat, and grabbed the broom.

Draco yelled when Harry wrapped his arms around the broom. He felt his way around and managed to reach Draco’s arm. Underneath them, he heard Hermione and Ron shouting at Draco, as if they didn’t remember a word Harry had told them.

Harry got a hold of Draco’s arm, but then Draco just switched the glasses over to his other hand, laughing menacingly.

‘Dra!’ shouted Harry. Holding onto the broom wasn’t easy when laughing so much his stomach hurt. ‘I need those!’

Harry felt a rush of wind and noticed Ron and Hermione’s yelling became fainter and fainter.

‘Give them back!’ said Harry.

‘Fine, stop shouting,’ Draco drawled and he pressed the glasses messily back onto Harry’s nose.

The world came back to Harry’s eyes, and he saw them flying higher and higher above the field. The students on the grass looked tiny as ants, and Harry was holding onto the broom with only an arm.

Draco’s laughter became more evil when he saw the shock on Harry’s face, so Harry quickly pulled it together ‘Put me down!’

Malfoy didn’t put him down – he started singing. ‘I can show you the world! Shining, shimmering, splendid!’

Harry groaned. ‘I’m not doing a duet with you, Malfoy! I’m dying here! Put! Me! Down!’

His arms were getting tired. What if they couldn’t hold him anymore?

Draco sighed, and finally he pointed his broom downwards. ‘Such a bore, Potter.’

Harry pulled himself up some more, pushed away his ego and took a breath. ‘A whole new woooorld!’

Draco shrieked with glee and needn’t thinking twice: ‘A new fantastic point of view!’

‘No one to tell us no!’

‘Or where to go!’ Draco flew over to the Slytherin stands.

Feeling solid wood beneath his feet, Harry felt a heave of relief, even if he was still at the highest point of the stands and far away from Ron and Hermione.

Then, without warning, Malfoy let go of the broom and dropped. For a second, Harry thought he plunged to the ground, but then he hung still in the air. His legs were crossed over the broom, holding him in place while he hang upside-down in front of Harry.

‘Are they looking?’ he asked.

Harry glanced. ‘Yes, everyone.’

Draco cursed. ‘Rude.’

Harry smiled, shoved his hand safely in his back pockets and tried to think of a way to kiss Draco without anyone noticing.

‘Did you see me fly?’ Malfoy smiled.

‘Is that what you call it? I thought you were auditioning for stunt pilot.’

‘Auditioning,’ scoffed Draco. ‘That’s for paupers, Harry. My father can get me in anywhere I want.’

‘Sure…’ Harry glanced around again and reckoned it was quite safe now to give Malfoy a quick kiss on his upside-down mouth. ‘Your talent’s just a bonus, right?’

'Was that a compliment?' Grinning broadly, Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck to press their noses together. 'Careful, Potter, I might think you fancy me.' Then he groaned. ‘This is so uncomfortable,’ he whispered.

Harry pulled his arms away, laughing. ‘Get back up, idiot.’

Malfoy let himself hang down dramatically, like a sweater on a clothesline. ‘I don’t know how.’

Harry laughed and sat down to enjoy the show of Draco struggling to heave himself up and climbing, and failing, and climbing again until he’d finally worked himself the right side up on his broom.

Harry cheered.

‘Could’ve helped,’ Malfoy snapped.

Harry grinned. ‘Such a bore.’

And with a last ‘Oh so witty’, Draco sped off. He received one hell of a telling-off from the Quidditch Captain.

Harry laughed as Draco hung his head and pressed his hands together in fake sorrow.

As slowly as he could, Harry descended the steps along the Slytherin stands. The team’s practice was almost over. He watched them talk and talk and talk, and noticed Draco draping over his broom, glancing at Harry every other second. Harry stalled some more.

At long last the team descended – all except Draco, who pointed his broom back to Harry, waiting underneath the stands.

Malfoy didn’t land so much as crashed, and thrashed towards the stands as soon as his feet hit the ground, leaving the Nimbus Two Thousand and One like dirt in the grass.

Harry got slammed into the scaffolds underneath the bleachers when Draco pressed himself against him and pulled Harry’s face close. He was breathing heavily and bit into Harry’s cheekbone like he wanted to eat him.

Then, just as wildly, he stepped away again. _'Merde.'_ He pulled up an arm to smell his armpit.

Harry had no patience for this kind of vanity – Ron and Hermione were waiting for him – so he grabbed Draco’s arms, pulled them around his waist and started kissing every inch of Draco’s neck.

‘You disgust me,’ he breathed.

Draco moaned.

. . .

At the end of February, Hermione started bugging Harry about the next Tri-Wizard Task, saying he should figure out what the golden egg meant. Harry also really had to start thinking of the homework he had neglected and he started to feel slightly nervous.

The trouble was that the next Tri-Wizard Task looked a lot closer all of a sudden, and he still hadn’t done anything about working out the clue inside the golden egg.

So Harry set off to lessons, weighed down with books, parchment, and quills as usual, but also with the lurking worry of the egg heavy in his stomach, as though he were carrying that around with him too – and Harry and Draco’s time together was becoming increasingly restricted.

. . .

At one of their next Care of Magical Creatures classes, Hagrid wasn’t there. Instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank, their replacement teacher, stood in front of the group.

‘Where’s Hagrid?’ asked Harry.

‘He is indisposed,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank shortly.

Soft and unpleasant laughter reached Harry’s ears. He turned; Draco Malfoy and the rest of the Slytherins were joining the class. All of them looked gleeful, and none of them looked surprised to see Professor Grubbly-Plank.

Harry could tell from his face that Draco knew more, but was not easily willing to share the information he had.

‘What d’you reckon is wrong with him?’ Harry wondered out loud to Ron. ‘You don’t think a skrewt–?’

‘Oh, he hasn’t been attacked, Potter, if that’s what you’re thinking.’ Malfoy was suddenly right behind him. Harry almost tripped over his own feet, while standing still.

‘Hey.’ He smiled and had to press his arms behind his back to keep himself from touching his boy.

‘No, he’s just too ashamed to show his big, ugly face,’ continued Draco undisturbed.

‘What d’you mean?’ said Harry.

Malfoy put his hand inside the pocket of his robes and pulled out a folded page of newsprint. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Hate to break it to you. Potter…’

He smirked as Harry snatched the page, unfolded it, and read it, with Ron, Seamus, Dean, and Neville looking over his shoulder. It was an article topped by Rita Skeeter with a picture of Hagrid looking extremely shifty. This time she was making Hagrid sound bad. What bothered Harry most was the fact that she quoted his very own Yule ball date, saying:

‘“I was attacked by a hippogriff, and my friend Vincent Crabbe got a bad bite off a flobberworm,” says Draco Malfoy, a fourth-year student. “We all hate Hagrid, but we’re just too scared to say anything.”’

‘What d’you mean, “we all hate Hagrid”?’ Harry spat at Malfoy. ‘What’s this rubbish about him’ -he pointed at Crabbe – ‘getting a bad bite off a flobberworm? They haven’t even got teeth!’

Crabbe was sniggering, apparently very pleased with himself.

‘Well, I think this should put an end to the oaf’s teaching career,’ said Malfoy, his eyes glinting. ‘Half-giant… and there was me thinking he’d just swallowed a bottle of Skele-Gro when he was young… None of the mummies and daddies are going to like this at all… They’ll be worried he’ll eat their kids, ha, ha…’

‘You–…’

‘Are you paying attention over there?’ Professor Grubbly-Planks voice carried over to the boys, and Draco Malfoy strolled away.

From that moment on, Malfoy was gloating at every possible opportunity. ‘Missing your half-breed pal?’ he kept whispering to Harry whenever there was a teacher around, so that he was safe from Harry’s retaliation. ‘Missing the elephantman?’

At some point Harry lost it and grabbed Malfoy’s arm. ‘You do realize I _like_ Hagrid? And I _will_ like him better than _you_ ,’ he added in a hiss, ‘if you keep this up.’

The only reaction he got was Malfoy lifting his eyebrows, looking at Harry’s hand around his arm until Harry loosened his grip.

‘Alright, _mate_ ,’ he sneered, and he walked away.

That should have been the first clue to Harry that something was off.

. . .

Harry, Ron and Hermione had been wrecking their brains and searching every book in the library for a way to win at the second Tri-Wizard Task: staying underwater for a full hour without drowning.

Harry was finding the tournament tasks particularly irksome because they cut into the already limited time he could have been spending with Draco Malfoy.

The night before the task, Ron and Hermione were taken to Professor McGonagall’s office. By ten to midnight, Harry was alone in the common room with Crookshanks. He had searched all the remaining books, and Ron and Hermione had not come back.

It’s over, he told himself. You can’t do it. You’ll just have to go down to the lake in the morning and tell the judges…

He imagined himself explaining that he couldn’t do the task. He pictured de judge’s look of round-eyed surprise, Karkaroffs satisfied, yellow-toothed smile. He could almost hear Fleur Delacour saying ‘I knew it…‘e is too young, ‘e is only a little boy.’ He saw Hagrid’s crest fallen, disbelieving face, and he saw Draco Malfoy, flashing his POTTER STINKS badge at the front of the crowd…

Forgetting that Crookshanks was on his lap. Harry stood up very suddenly; Crookshanks hissed angrily as he landed on the floor, gave Harry a disgusted look, and stalked away with his bottle brushtail in the air, but Harry was already hurrying up the spiral staircase to his dormitory… He would grab the Invisibility Cloak and go back to the library. He’d stay there all night if he had to…

. . .

All thanks to Dobby, Harry managed to get safely through the second Tri-Wizard Task, and things almost returned to normal. They’d have Potions again with the Slytherins that afternoon, which meant seeing Draco again. Harry hadn’t been able to talk to him properly ever since the egg demanded all of his attention. He was looking forward to it with all his heart.

When Harry, Ron and Hermione descended the steps to the dungeons, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were standing in a huddle outside the classroom door with Pansy Parkinson’s gang of Slytherin girls. All of them were looking at something Harry couldn’t see and sniggering heartily.

Pansy’s puglike face peered excitedly around Goyle’s broad back as Harry, Ron, and Hermione approached.

‘There they are, there they are!’ she giggled, and the knot of Slytherins broke apart. Harry saw that Pansy had a magazine in her hands – Witch Weekly.

‘You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!’ Pansy said loudly, and she threw the magazine at Hermione, who caught it, looking startled.

At that moment, the dungeon door opened, and Snape beckoned them all inside.

Hermione and Ron headed for a table close to the door and Harry followed. Once Snape had turned his back on them to write up the ingredients of today’s potion on the blackboard, Hermione hastily rifled through the magazine under the desk. In the center pages, they found what they were looking for.

It was yet another article by Rita Skeeter; the Slytherins’ favourite reporter it seemed. This time her victims were none other than Harry and Hermione. It said Hermione was Harry’s ‘steady girlfriend’, but that she had dumped him for Viktor Krum, and that she’d used Love Potions on the two boys.

‘If that’s the best Rita can do, she’s losing her touch,’ said Hermione, giggling, as she threw Witch Weekly onto the empty chair beside her. ‘What a pile of old rubbish.’

She looked over at the Slytherins, who were all watching her and Harry closely across the room to see if they had been upset by the article. Hermione gave them a sarcastic smile and a wave, and she, Harry, and Ron started unpacking the ingredients they would need for their Wit-Sharpening Potion.

‘Fascinating though your social life undoubtedly is. Miss Granger,’ said an icy voice right behind them, and all three of them jumped, ‘I must ask you not to discuss it in my class. Ten points from Gryffindor.’

Snape had glided over to their desk while they were talking. The whole class was now looking around at them.

‘Ah… reading magazines under the table as well?’ Snape added, snatching up the copy of Witch Weekly. ‘A further ten points from Gryffindor… oh but of course…’ Snape’s black eyes glittered as they fell on Rita Skeeter’s article. ‘Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings…’

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins’ laughter, and an unpleasant smile curled Snape’s thin mouth. To Harry’s fury, he began to read the article aloud.

‘"Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache"… Dear, dear. Potter, what’s ailing you now?’

Harry could feel his face burning. Snape was pausing at the end of every sentence to allow the Slytherins a hearty laugh. The article sounded ten times worse when read by Snape. Even Hermione was blushing scarlet now.

‘"… Harry Potter’s well-wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate."’

‘Ha!’ came one short, scornful sound from the far corner of the dungeon. It got drowned in the sounds of laughter from the other Slytherins, but Harry’d heard.

‘How very touching,’ sneered Snape, rolling up the magazine to continued gales of laughter from the Slytherins. From all Slytherins but one. Draco Malfoy was looking positively miserable.

‘Well, I think I had better separate the three of you, so you can keep your minds on your potions rather than on your tangled love lives. Weasley, you stay here. Miss Granger, over there, beside Miss Parkinson. Potter –’

Please say Malfoy, _please_.

‘That table in front of my desk. Move. Now.’

It was as if Snape finally realized that pairing Harry up with Draco didn’t spite Harry at all. He hadn’t paired them up for weeks now and it was tormenting Harry. Potions was the only chance he had to casually be close to Malfoy.

Furious, Harry threw his ingredients and his bag into his cauldron and dragged it up to the front of the dungeon to the empty table.

‘All this press attention seems to have inflated your already over-large head, Potter,’ said Snape quietly, once the rest of the class had settled down again. ‘You might be laboring under the delusion that the entire wizarding world is impressed with you, but I don’t care how many times your picture appears in the papers. To me, Potter, you are nothing but a nasty little boy who considers rules to be beneath him.’

‘The only one this nasty little boy wants beneath him is sitting behind me wearing a Potter Stinks badge, Professor,’ Harry did _not_ say. He wished he could though. Oh, how he wished he could.

After class, Harry stayed behind to seize Malfoy by the arm, but Draco pulled it away. He seemed angry. ‘Piss off...’

‘What’s wrong, Dra?’

‘Don’t call me Dra, Scarhead.’

‘Draconius?’ Harry smiled, but Draco scowled. He walked out of the classroom.

‘Wait, Draco, why are you–?’

Malfoy turned around, spreading his arms while walking backwards through the mass of students filling the corridor. He gestured at his ear, mouthing, ‘Can’t hear you.’

There were too many people around. Without attracting everyone’s attention it was impossible to follow Draco or force him to stay and talk to Harry. They could never privately discuss anything here.

Malfoy’s arms fell back down. Scowling, he turned around.

With that, Harry let Draco Malfoy walk away.

. . .

Breakfast was a very noisy affair at the Gryffindor table on the morning of the third task. The post owls appeared, bringing Harry a good-luck card from Sirius. It was only a piece of parchment, folded over and bearing a muddy paw print on its front, but Harry appreciated it all the same.

On the other side of the Hall, Draco Malfoy’s eagle owl had landed on his shoulder, carrying what looked like his usual supply of sweets and cakes from home.

A screech owl arrived for Hermione, carrying her morning copy of the Daily Prophet as usual. She unfolded the paper, glanced at the front page, and spat out a mouthful of pumpkin juice all over it.

‘What?’ said Harry and Ron together, staring at her.

‘Nothing,’ said Hermione quickly, trying to shove the paper out of sight, but Ron grabbed it. He stared at the headline and said, ‘No way. Not today. That old cow.’

‘What?’ said Harry. ‘Rita Skeeter again?’

‘No,’ said Ron, and just like Hermione, he attempted to push the paper out of sight.

‘It’s about me, isn’t it?’ said Harry.

‘No,’ said Ron, in an entirely unconvincing tone. But before Harry could demand to see the paper, Draco Malfoy shouted across the Great Hall from the Slytherin table.

‘Hey, Potter! Potter! How’s your head? You feeling all right? Sure you’re not going to go berserk on us?’

Malfoy was holding a copy of the Daily Prophet too. Slytherins up and down the table were sniggering, twisting in their seats to see Harry’s reaction.

‘Let me see it,’ Harry said to Ron. ‘Give it here.’

Very reluctantly, Ron handed over the newspaper. Harry turned it over and found himself staring at his own picture beneath the banner headline:

‘HARRY POTTER: DISTURBED AND DANGEROUS.’

The article told the world how Harry’s scar had been hurting recently, and Rita Skeeter made it sound way worse.

_“‘Potter can speak Parseltongue,’ reveals Draco Malfoy, a Hogwarts fourth year. ‘There were a lot of attacks on students a couple of years ago, and most people thought Potter was behind them after they saw him lose his temper at a duelling club and set a snake on another boy. It was all hushed up, though. But he’s made friends with werewolves and giants too. We think he’d do anything for a bit of power.’”_

Harry sighed, folding up the paper. ‘Oh, Malfoy…’

As chance would have it, Harry knew perfectly well how Draco felt about his Parseltongue skills. One slip of the tongue in a library once, but it was stuck in Harry’s heart forever.

Over at the Slytherin table, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were laughing at him, tapping their heads with their fingers, pulling grotesquely mad faces, and waggling their tongues like snakes.

To Ron and Hermione’s confusion, Harry smiled and ate his breakfast.

Draco seemed perfectly fine again today, Harry thought. Perhaps he’d only been jealous about the article on him and Hermione, that day after potions. When the third task was done he’d finally be free to spend every waking minute with his boy again.

. . .

Regrettably, Harry was mistaken.

The third task of the Tri-Wizard tournament went horribly wrong. Voldemort returned, Cedric Diggory got murdered, and right there to cheer it all on was no less than Draco’s dad: Lucius Malfoy, who happened to be the spitting image of his son.

It messed with Harry’s mind. He couldn’t look at Draco without seeing Lucius Malfoy at the graveyard, then Voldemort, and then Cedric…

He didn’t want it to happen, it just did each time he spotted Draco or even if thought he did. He wanted to talk to him about it. But it hurt – something hurt, Harry couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was. But it kept him from seeing Draco.

. . .

‘It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory.’

That’s what Dumbledore said at his end of the year speech.

Stunned and frightened, every face in the Hall was turned toward Dumbledore… or almost every face. Over at the Slytherin table, Harry saw Draco Malfoy muttering something to Crabbe and Goyle.

Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry and raised his goblet once more. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit. They murmured his name, as they had murmured Cedric’s, and drank to him. But through a gap in the standing figures. Harry saw that Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and many of the other Slytherins had remained defiantly in their seats, their goblets untouched.

Harry felt a hot, sick swoop of anger in his stomach. He forced himself to look back at Dumbledore.

. . .

At the trainride back to the Dursleys, Harry still hadn’t spoken to Draco. In fact, he’d been actively avoiding him ever since Dumbledore’s speech. He didn’t want to know what Malfoy had to say. He didn’t want to hear him defending his dad, perhaps even siding with Voldemort. Harry wasn’t sure if Draco would do this, but after seeing him act so casually at the Slytherin table, Harry was afraid he would.

Harry couldn’t avoid him forever though, least of all inside a moving train. So eventually, as Harry had been dreading the entire journey, the door of their compartment slid open.

‘So…’ said Malfoy, advancing slightly into the compartment and looking slowly around at them, a smirk quivering on his lips.

Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him. All three of them looked more pleased with themselves, more arrogant and more menacing than Harry had ever seen them.

‘Potter’s Dumbledore’s favourite boy again.’ He focused his gaze on Harry, but there was nothing soft or fond about it this time. ‘Trying not to think about it then? Trying to pretend it hasn’t happened?’

Harry got up to try and push Draco out of the compartment. ‘Please, don’t,’ he whispered. He had not been this close to Malfoy in months, but those nice memories did nothing to take away the bad ones.

Draco’s face and the compartment faded to the background as he saw Lucius, saw Voldemort, saw Cedric…

Draco pushed Harry back in his chair with anger in his eyes, and Harry’s flashbacks got stronger. He felt a kind of ringing in his ears. Unknowingly, his hand gripped his wand under his robes. It was a new reflex he’d picked up during recent events.

‘You chose the losing side, Potter. I warned you.’ 

The words seemed the stab Harry; even more so than the stone-cold look in Malfoy’s eyes.

‘I told you, you ought to choose your company more carefully, remember? I told you not to hang around with riffraff like this!’ He jerked his head at Ron and Hermione. ‘Too late now. Potter! They’ll be the first to go, now the Dark Lord’s back! Mudbloods and Mugglelovers first! Well – second… Diggory was the f–’

It was as though someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. Blinded by the blaze of the spells that had blasted from every direction, deafened by a series of bangs, Harry blinked and looked down at the floor.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the door way. Ron, and Hermione were on their feet, both of them having used a different hex. Nor were they the only ones to have done so.

‘Thought we’d see what those three were up to,’ said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment. He had his wand out, and so did George, who was careful to tread on Malfoy as he followed Fred inside.

‘Don’t.’ Harry flinched, but nobody heard him.

‘Well, let’s not leave them here, they don’t add much to the decor.’

Ron, Fred and George kicked, rolled, and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle – each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit – out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut.

Harry looked away and sat down, shaking.

‘Exploding Snap, anyone?’ said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards.

Harry wasn’t in the mood for Exploding Snap. He was pretty sure him and Draco had just broke up.

He didn’t know what to do. Should he get out of the compartment to fix Draco up? Fix their friendship? Did Draco deserve that?

Or had he deserved those jinxes?

Harry was too confused to make a decision.

In the end he just joined his group, playing Exploding Snap – and stepping over the body of his boy on their way out of the train.

Harry wasn’t proud of it.

It hurt.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight trigger warning for self harm, right after Umbridge is first introduced; it's only a few lines.

That summer Harry felt alone for the longest time. He’d always been alone, but now he _felt_ it, more than ever.

Everyone seemed to have abandoned him. Ron and Hermione didn’t write enough to Harry’s taste and Draco Malfoy didn’t write him at all. Not a word. The contrast with last year pained Harry.

At long last, the Weasleys collected him to go to Sirius’s house, which housed the Order of the Phoenix: the secret group trying to undermine Voldemort.

Since then, objectively, Harry wasn’t alone anymore, but things didn’t improve much. They had to clean Sirius’s house from top to bottom, and that house was _filthy_. Harry was thankful for the hard work, though, it kept his mind from wandering.

At some point, Harry and Sirius were cleaning a room with a huge tapestry at the wall. The tapestry looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Doxys had gnawed it in places. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree dating back (as far as Harry could tell) to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black: _Toujours pur_.’

Sirius was telling Harry about the people who were blasted off of the tapestry by Sirius’s mom. Among them was Andromeda Tonks.

‘Andromeda’s sisters are still here because they made lovely, respectable pure-blood marriages, but Andromeda married a Muggle-born, Ted Tonks, so – ’

Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly.

Harry, however, did not laugh; he was too busy staring at the names to the right of Andromeda’s burn mark. A double line of gold embroidery linked Narcissa Black with Lucius Malfoy and a single vertical gold line from their names led to the name Draco.

Harry felt a pain in his chest that made him sick to his stomach.

Not a word, he thought, not a single word from his boy all summer. He hadn’t properly talked to him for half a year now.

Harry remembered the last time they’d been alone together; a stolen moment between classes, hiding behind an ugly dragon shaped vase. Draco’d been insulting Harry’s blouse, trying to get Harry to take it off. Harry had laughed so much he got the hiccups. Even Draco’d found that pretty funny.

‘The pure-blood families are all interrelated,’ said Sirius and with a jolt Harry awoke from his memory.

He’d been touching the name – Draco Malfoy’s wonderful wizard’s name – and Sirius, who knew nothing of Harry’s heartache, thought he’d wondered about his lineage. Harry pulled himself together. It took an almighty effort.

‘If you’re only going to let your sons and daughters marry purebloods your choice is very limited,’ said Sirius, ‘there are hardly any of us left.’

. . .

Ron and Hermione didn’t mention Draco Malfoy once. Harry tried not to resent them for it, but he desperately wanted to talk about him. He couldn’t find a way to bring the subject up. It didn’t feel right to open up the heavily locked safe he kept the memories of Draco in all by himself. He needed someone to ask him about it, to invite him to talk. Otherwise he’d stay silent forever, scared to force his overload of feelings on someone else.

Laying awake at night, Harry didn’t know which was worse: the pain caused by Voldemort or the pain caused by Draco Malfoy. At least he could _talk_ about that night he faced Voldemort. The scar Draco Malfoy caused, Harry had to deal with entirely on his own.

It wasn’t until their train ride to Hogwarts that Ron first acknowledged Draco’s existence, ever so casually: ‘Guess who’s a Slytherin prefect?’

Harry could only think of one person, who topped every class he enrolled in and made certain everybody knew his name. ‘Mister Draco Malfoy.’

The name felt good on his tongue. Harry realized now that he even missed saying his name.

Prefect.

Harry had forgotten completely about prefects being chosen in the fifth year. He had been too anxious about everything else to spare a thought for the fact that badges must be winging their way towards certain people – until Ron and Hermione’s badges had arrived.

Harry could not lie to himself; if he had known the prefect badge was on its way, he would have expected it to come to him, not Ron. Did this make him as arrogant as Draco Malfoy? Did he think himself superior to everyone else?

It was a confusing thought, that he honestly didn’t have the energy for to answer right now. So he stuffed it to the back of his mind, along with the trauma and the heartache and the memories.

Harry Potter was perfectly fine.

‘We’re supposed to patrol the corridors every so often,’ Ron told Harry and Neville, ‘and we can give out punishments if people are misbehaving. I can’t wait to get Crabbe and Goyle for something.’

‘You’re not supposed to abuse your position, Ron!’ said Hermione sharply.

‘Yeah, right, because Malfoy won’t abuse it at all,’ said Ron sarcastically.

‘So you’re going to descend to his level?’

‘No, I’m just going to make sure I get his mates before he gets mine.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Ron – ’

Harry felt like putting his fingers in his ears and shutting his eyes. Hearing Draco’s name hurt; hearing Draco’s name being dragged through the mud hurt even worse.

. . .

The compartment door opened, and Harry looked around.

He had feared this, but that did not make the sight of Draco Malfoy smirking at him from between his cronies Crabbe and Goyle any more bearable.

‘What?’ he said, before Malfoy could open his mouth.

‘Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you a detention,’ drawled Malfoy, whose sleek blond hair and pointed chin were just like his fathers. ‘You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means that I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.’

‘Yeah,’ said Harry, ‘but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave me alone.’

Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville laughed.

Malfoy’s lip curled. ‘Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?’ he asked.

‘You should know,’ Ron blurted out.

A stunned silence fell over the compartment. It even managed to hush Draco.

Ron looked at Harry as if to check if he’d gone too far. ‘Well, everyone knows,’ he muttered.

Harry grinned and looked up defiantly at Draco.

‘Well, just watch yourself, Potter,’ said Draco. He gave Harry a last malicious look and departed, with Crabbe and Goyle lumbering along in his wake.

Harry breathed. He was fine.

He was _fine_.

He wished Draco came back.

. . .

Not even ten minutes later the compartment door slammed open again. Giving everyone a terrible fright, Pansy Parkinson appeared in the doorway, panting. With an alarming focus she glared at Harry. ‘I beg of you, Potter, _talk_ to Draco. I swear to Merlin, if I hear _J’avais rêvé_ one more time they’ll have to scrape my remains from the train tracks.’

And as suddenly as she arrived, she stomped away again. Harry’s face felt like it was on fire.

Ginny was the first to break the loaded silence. ‘Well, that was… clear.’

‘Graphic,’ mumbled Neville.

‘What’s C _hevay Ruhvay_?’ asked Ron, looking more bewildered than Harry’d ever seen him. It succeeded in making Harry laugh, although it sounded nervous. Harry’s laugh was out of shape.

‘Isn’t it that song from Les Misérables?’ offered Hermione. ‘The dramatic musical song?’

‘What’s a song got to do with stupid Malfoy?’ Harry scowled.

Then, one by one, they all burst out laughing at the absurdity of Pansy’s message and at each other’s befuddled faces.

. . .

When the train arrived at the station, Ron and Hermione were on their Prefect duty, leaving Harry alone with Ginny. They shuffled out of the compartment, feeling the first sting of the night air on their faces as they joined the crowd in the corridor. Slowly, they moved towards the doors. Harry could smell the pine trees that lined the path down to the lake. He stepped down onto the platform.

As they moved off along the platform and out through the station, they became separated. Jostled by the crowd, Harry looked around for Ron or Hermione, but neither of them was anywhere near him, so he allowed himself to be shunted forwards onto the dark, rainwashed road outside Hogsmeade Station. Here stood the hundred or so stage coaches that always took the students above first year up to the castle.

A short distance away, Draco Malfoy, followed by a small gang of cronies including Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson, was pushing some timid-looking second-years out of the way so that he and his friends could get a coach to themselves.

Harry saw Draco get in first, and he made an impulsive decision. Shooting through the crowd, Harry pushed Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy out of the way, jumped into the coach with Malfoy and sealed the door behind them.

In spite of it all, Harry felt triumphant – until he saw Malfoy’s face.

‘Potter!’

Harry sat down, still yanking at the door to keep it closed. ‘Why didn’t you write me?’ he asked.

‘Why didn’t I _write_ you?’ Malfoy all but spat the words at Harry. ‘You left me for dead in that train!’

‘You said horrible things.’

‘You ignored me for weeks!’

Harry’s mouth fell open. ‘ _Ignored_ you? I… I had the tournament! You didn’t look _me_ up either’

‘I did,’ Draco said coldly, not looking at Harry anymore. ‘I just stopped after you left me to rot on that tower.’

Harry fell silent.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Draco, clutching his wand, his knuckles white as lightning. ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

Had Harry _forgotten_ to meet Draco? The last weeks before summer he’d been so busy with homework and the Tournament that he couldn’t find the time or energy to come looking for Draco anymore. One of their meetings might have slipped his mind…

Harry felt like hiding away, as if he was being shot at. ‘Oh Draco, I’m so sorry. I’m _so_ sorry, why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you talk to me?’

‘Don’t put this on me, Scarhead! I was out of sight, out of mind, but whatever.’

‘That’s not true!’ Harry wailed.

‘I don’t care, honestly. It’s ages ago.’ Draco crossed his arms and stared out of the window.

Harry’d never seen him so closed off. Malfoy’s entire body language was in the wrong direction. He’d always been so outward in everything.

By then, the coach had lifted off. Harry could see the lights of the castle drawing nearer and let go of the door handle

‘Come on, Draco, don’t–…’ Harry took a deep breath. ‘Can you give me another chance?’

‘Oh piss of, Potter, you can’t even look at me.’

Harry opened his mouth, but closed it again. To be fair, Harry was having as much trouble looking at Draco right now as he had before summer.

‘I-it’s… your dad– ’

‘I know,’ Draco cut in at once.

‘Please talk to me again,’ Harry said. In a whisper, he added, ‘I miss you so.’

Slowly, Draco seemed to thaw. His arms unfolded. It encouraged Harry to sit down next to him and seize his hand.

It turned out to be the wrong move; Draco knocked Harry’s hand aside. ‘We can’t, Potter. It can’t,’ he said. ‘You’re the enemy.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ Harry scoffed. ‘I don’t _have_ to be. You–…’

At once Draco started shouting. Harry flinched.

‘Everyone around you is my enemy! And everyone around me is _your_ enemy! _How_ do you see that solved all of a sudden? As if your friends will suddenly _like_ me; as if my family won’t ruthlessly _use_ you somehow! Or me! It _can’t_! We cannot keep ignoring it, Harry! The Dark Lord has _returned_ for Merlin’s sake!’

‘I’m aware,’ Harry said coolly.

Draco panted. Harry wished he calmed down. Malfoy had never frightened Harry before and he did not care for it.

‘You’re on the _wrong_ side of this war, Harry,’ Malfoy carried on. ‘You’ve got to start seeing that. I _tried_ to get you to our side–…’

‘Why don’t you get to my side?’

‘Harry, for fuck’s sake!’ Draco was gesturing furiously. ‘You’re the _losing_ side. There is _no way_ you’ll _hero_ yourself out of this. The Dark Arts are the most powerful of all magic, I told you that. You _need_ to start seeing sense. You would understand if you didn’t know so _infuriatingly_ _little_ about your own people. You’ve clearly never opened a history book in your life, and it is showing.’

Then he put his hands in Harry’s neck, his thumbs grabbing Harry’s cheeks.

‘Muggles and Mudbloods are ruining _everything_ for us.’

He fell silent for a second, thinking. Harry used the time to nuzzle into Draco’s hand, enjoying his touch way too much for his own good.

Draco tightened his grip to keep Harry focused. ‘There is still time to join us, Harry. We can figure it out.’

‘Oh, lovely.’ Harry sighed. ‘So much easier to off me that way. Or we could snuff it together, like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic.’

Draco's pale eyes bore into Harry's. He started breathing heavily again and yanked his hands away.

Harry tried with everything he had to stay calm. ‘I just… don’t agree with you,’ he said. ‘I think you need to be brave, and you should defy your parents. They are brainwashing you.’

Raising his hands in the air, Draco slouched back in his seat. ‘Oh, you’re so dumb.’

Harry wanted to hit him, yell at him, shake him until he saw the situation the way Harry saw it – and it was infuriating to know that doing so wouldn’t change a single thing. Draco was convinced of his own point of view, just as Harry was of his. They’d spent their summers with opposing groups, and Harry didn’t doubt that Draco had been told as much bad things about his friends as Harry had about Draco’s.

They sat together in silence for a while.

Harry longed to touch his friend, but didn’t dare. ‘I wish…’ he started, but couldn’t find the right words to end that sentence.

Draco let his eyes wander over Harry, at last coming to a halt at Harry’s eyes. They stayed there for a long time.

‘I know,’ he whispered. It sounded like a desperate sigh.

When the coach landed, Harry leaned over, picked up Draco’s chin - and when he kissed him goodbye, the tiniest whimpering sound escaped his boy.

Harry stumbled out of the coach, unable to see through his tears.

. . .

The sorting Hat’s song was different this year.

‘Branched out a bit this year, hasn’t it?’ said Ron, his eyebrows raised.

‘Too right it has,’ said Harry.

The Sorting Hat usually confined itself to describing the different qualities looked for by each of the four Hogwarts houses and its own role in Sorting them. Harry could not remember it ever trying to give the school advice before.

Applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Harrys memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbours, and Harry, clapping along with everyone else, knew exactly what they were talking about.

‘I wonder if it’s ever given warnings before?’ said Hermione, sounding slightly anxious.

‘How can it know if the school’s in danger if it’s a Hat?’ said Ron.

‘And it wants all the houses to be friends?’ said Harry, looking over at the Slytherin table, where Draco Malfoy was holding court. ‘Fat chance.’

. . .

Their first Potions lesson was worse than ever. This year, Harry not only had to deal with Snape, as well as face his ex-boy and all the feelings that came with it, he also had to do without his brilliant Potions partner to hide behind. He’d been partners with Draco ever since their first year; Harry seriously questioned if he could even make it alone.

Snape looked down at Harry’s cauldron with a horrible smirk on his face. ‘Potter, what is this supposed to be?’

The Slytherins at the front of the class all looked up eagerly; they loved hearing Snape taunt Harry.

‘The Draught of Peace,’ said Harry tensely.

‘Tell me, Potter,’ said Snape softly, ‘can you read?’

Draco Malfoy laughed.

Harry resisted the urge to look at him. He knew Draco’s laugh, and this sounded nothing like it. It stung.

Harry also distinctly remembered a certain day at the library, when Draco had asked Harry that same question: can you read? The words had sounded so differently back then.

. . .

The other class they shared with the Slytherins – Care of Magical Creatures – was coming up too, and Harry dreaded it all the way down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid’s cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Professor Grubbly-Plank stood waiting for the class some ten yards from Hagrid’s front door, a long trestle table in front of her laden with twigs. As Harry and Ron reached her, a loud shout of laughter sounded behind them; turning, they saw Draco Malfoy striding towards them, surrounded by his usual gang of Slytherin cronies. He had clearly just said something highly amusing, because Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and the rest continued to snigger heartily as they gathered around the trestle table and, judging by the way they all kept looking over at Harry, he was able to guess the subject of the joke without too much difficulty.

‘Everyone here?’ barked Professor Grubbly-Plank, once all the Slytherins and Gryffindors had arrived. ‘Let’s crack on then. Who can tell me what these things are called?’ She indicated the heap of twigs in front of her.

Hermione’s hand shot into the air. Behind her back, Malfoy did a bucktoothed imitation of her jumping up and down in eagerness to answer a question. Pansy Parkinson gave a shriek of laughter. Harry hated her.

‘Where’s Hagrid?’ Harry asked Professor Grubbly-Plank, while everyone else was choosing Bowtruckles.

‘Never you mind,’ said Professor Grubbly-Plank repressively, which had been her attitude last time Hagrid had failed to turn up for a class, too.

Smirking all over his pointed face, Draco Malfoy leaned across Harry. For a splitsecond Harry thought he leaned in for a kiss, but then Draco seized the largest Bowtruckle. Harry’s heart fell painfully.

‘Maybe,’ said Malfoy in an undertone, so that only Harry could hear him, ‘the stupid great oaf’s got himself badly injured.’

Harry leaned closer. ‘Oh yeah? Maybe you will if you don’t shut up.’ It sounded more fondly than he needed it to be.

Malfoy shot him a stern look. ‘Maybe he’s been messing with stuff that’s too big for him, if you get my drift.’

Malfoy’s gaze shot from Harry’s confused frown to his mouth. Then he walked away, smirking over his shoulder at Harry, who felt suddenly sick.

Did Malfoy know something he didn’t – again? His father was a Death Eater after all; what if he had information about Hagrid’s fate that had not yet reached the ears of the Order?

He hurried back around the table to Ron and Hermione who were squatting on the grass some distance away and attempting to persuade a Bowtruckle to remain still long enough for them to draw it. Harry pulled out parchment and quill, crouched down beside the others and related in a whisper what Malfoy had just said.

‘Dumbledore would know if something had happened to Hagrid,’ said Hermione at once. ‘It’s just playing into Malfoy’s hands to look worried; it tells him we don’t know exactly what’s going on. We’ve got to ignore him, Harry. Here, hold the Bowtruckle for a moment, just so I can draw its face…’

‘Yes,’ came Malfoy’s clear drawl from the group nearest them.

Harry looked up involuntarily and failed to drag his eyes away again.

‘Father was talking to the Minister just a couple of days ago, you know, and it sounds as though the Ministry’s really determined to crack down on the sub-standard teaching in this place. So even if that overgrown moron does show up again, he’ll probably be sent packing straight away.’

‘OUCH!’

Harry had gripped the Bowtruckle so hard that it had almost snapped, and it had just taken a great retaliatory swipe at his hand with its sharp fingers, leaving two long deep cuts there. Harry dropped it.

Crabbe and Goyle, who had already been guffawing at the idea of Hagrid being sacked, laughed still harder as the Bowtruckle set off at full tilt towards the Forest, a little moving stick-man soon swallowed up among the tree roots.

When the bell echoed distantly over the grounds, Harry rolled up his blood-stained Bowtruckle picture and marched off to Herbology with his hand wrapped in Hermione’s handkerchief, and Malfoy’s derisive laughter still ringing in his ears.

‘If he calls Hagrid a moron one more time…’ said Harry through gritted teeth.

‘Harry, don’t go picking rows with Malfoy now. And don’t forget, he’s a prefect, he could make life difficult for you…’

‘Wow, I wonder what it’d be like to have a difficult life because of Draco Malfoy?’ said Harry sarcastically.

Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned. She shot Harry a sympathetic look. He preferred a laugh any day.

. . .

Harry’s mood lifted somewhat when Ron got into the Quidditch team, as their new Keeper.

Happily chatting about tactics, they walked up to the Quidditch pitch for their first training session of the year. All their teammates but Angelina were already in the changing room when they entered.

‘All right, Ron?’ said George, winking at him.

‘Yeah,’ said Ron, who had become quieter and quieter all the way down to the pitch.

‘Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?’ said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes, a slightly malicious grin on his face.

‘Shut up,’ said Ron, stony-faced, pulling on his own team robes for the first time. They fitted him well considering they had been Oliver Wood’s, who was rather broader in the shoulder.

‘OK, everyone,’ said Angelina, entering from the Captain’s office, already changed. ‘Let’s get to it; Alicia and Fred, if you can just bring out the ball crate for us. Oh, and there are a couple of people out there watching, but I want you to just ignore them, all right?’

Something in her would-be casual voice made Harry think he might know who the uninvited spectators were – and sure enough, when they left the changing room for the bright sunlight of the pitch it was to a storm of cat calls and jeers from the Slytherin Quidditch team and assorted hangers-on, who were grouped halfway up the empty stands and whose voices echoed loudly around the stadium.

‘What’s that Weasley’s riding?’ Malfoy called in his sneering drawl. ‘Why would anyone put a flying charm on a mouldy old log like that?’

Crabbe, Goyle and Pansy Parkinson guffawed and shrieked with laughter.

‘Ignore them,’ Harry said, accelerating to catch up with Ron, ‘we’ll see who’s laughing after we play them…’

When Ron dropped the Quaffle the Slytherins, led by Malfoy, roared and screamed with laughter.

Ron, who had pelted towards the ground to catch the Quaffle before it landed, pulled out of the dive untidily, so that he slipped sideways on his broom, and returned to playing height blushing.

Harry saw Fred and George exchange looks, but uncharacteristically neither of them said anything, for which he was grateful.

‘Pass it on, Ron,’ called Angelina, as though nothing had happened.

Ron threw the Quaffle to Alicia, who passed back to Harry…

‘Hey, Potter, how’s your scar feeling?’ called Malfoy. ‘Sure you don’t need a lie down? It must be, what, a whole week since you were in the hospital wing, that’s a record for you, isn’t it?’

Harry felt a heat surge to his head. ‘Aw, thanks for caring, honey!’ he blurted out at the top of his lungs. ‘I know how much you love catching _me_ instead of the _snitch_!’

He heard the Gryffindor team howling with laughter behind him, but that wasn’t why he’d said it.

Malfoy leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed and eyes on Harry, as he tried and failed to hide a smile underneath a big old-fashioned scowl. The image looked so familiar to Harry that it filled his heart with hope. Silly, starry-eyed hope that would lead Harry absolutely nowhere.

. . .

It turned out – to no one’s surprise – that Harry was failing miserably at Potions.

In Snape’s dungeon, when they arrived for double Potions, Harry’s moonstone essay was handed back to him with a large, spiky black ‘D’ scrawled in an upper corner.

‘The general standard of this homework was abysmal,’ said Snape. ‘Most of you would have failed had this been your examination. I expect to see a great deal more effort for this week’s essay on the various varieties of venom antidotes, or I shall have to start handing out detentions to those dunces who get a D.’

He smirked as Malfoy sniggered and said in a carrying whisper, ‘Some people got a “D”? Ha!’

Harry slid his moonstone essay back into his bag as quickly as possible, feeling that he would rather die than allow Draco Malfoy to find out his grade.

. . .

Meanwhile, Hogwarts was heaving under the weight of an Inquisitor, sent by the Ministry of Magic: Dolores Umbridge. One by one, she inspected all teachers and classes. She was also their new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, which she had turned into a theoretical class, while blatantly denying the return of Voldemort.

It was an understatement to say there was some friction between Harry and Professor Umbridge. Harry kept blurting out the truth about what he saw at the graveyard, and Umbridge kept giving him detention for it. This detention meant writing lines with an enchanted quill that carved the words into Harry’s skin until they left a scar.

Harry would never admit this out loud, but – it felt good. Satisfying. It distracted him from the pain inside. Cutting into his skin was a pain he knew. A pain he could control.

Needless to say, these detention sessions did nothing to stop Harry. On the contrary: it only strengthened Harry’s intent to prove Umbridge wrong. He found himself in her office increasingly more often, carving letters into his skin with the Blood Quill untill the pain drowned out every other feeling he might have had.

At their next Care of Magical Creatures class, she was there to inspect Professor Grubbly-Plank.

Harry exchanged uneasy looks with Ron and Hermione. Malfoy was whispering with Crabbe and Goyle; he would surely love this opportunity to tell tales on Hagrid to a member of the Ministry.

‘Hmm,’ said Professor Umbridge, dropping her voice, though Harry could still hear her quite clearly. ‘I wonder – the Headmaster seems strangely reluctant to give me any information on the matter – can you tell me what is causing Professor Hagrid’s very extended leave of absence?’

Harry saw Malfoy look up eagerly and watch Umbridge and Grubbly-Plank closely.

Professor Grubbly-Plank couldn’t tell her anything about that, so she got on with the lesson.

Umbridge wandered amongst the students, questioning them on magical creatures. Most people were able to answer well and Harry’s spirits lifted somewhat; at least the class was not letting Hagrid down.

Then she put her next question to Goyle. ‘Now, I hear there have been injuries in this class?’

Goyle gave a stupid grin. Malfoy hastened to answer the question. ‘That was me,’ he said. ‘I was slashed by a Hippogriff.’

‘A Hippogriff?’ said Professor Umbridge, now scribbling frantically.

‘Only because he was too stupid to listen to what Hagrid told him to do,’ said Harry angrily.

Both Ron and Hermione groaned – but Draco Malfoy peeked over his shoulder at Harry – and his face could only be described as fond.

Professor Umbridge turned her head slowly in Harry’s direction. ‘Another nights detention, I think,’ she said softly.

It was worth it.

. . .

As they reached the bottom of the steps to the dungeons for Potions class they were recalled to themselves by the voice of Draco Malfoy who was standing just outside Snape’s classroom door, waving around an official-looking piece of parchment and talking much louder than was necessary so that they could hear every word.

‘Yeah, Umbridge gave the Slytherin Quidditch team permission to continue playing straight away, I went to ask her first thing this morning. Well, it was pretty much automatic, I mean, she knows my father really well, he’s always popping in and out of the Ministry… It’ll be interesting to see whether Gryffindor are allowed to keep playing, won’t it?’

‘Don’t rise,’ Hermione whispered imploringly to Harry and Ron, who were both watching Malfoy, faces set and fists clenched, although Ron had other reasons than Harry. ‘It’s what he wants.’

‘I mean,’ said Malfoy, raising his voice a little more, his eyes glittering malevolently in Harry and Ron’s direction, ‘if it’s a question of influence with the Ministry, I don’t think they’ve got much chance… from what my father says, they’ve been looking for an excuse to sack Arthur Weasley for years… And as for Potter…’

His eyes wandered over to Harry’s, and no matter how much he hated it, Harry’s heart made a somersault at the sight of the glistening grey eyes.

‘My father says it’s a matter of time before the Ministry has him carted off to St Mungo’s… apparently they’ve got a special ward for people whose brains have been addled by magic.’

Malfoy made a grotesque face, his mouth sagging open and his eyes rolling – and Harry couldn’t help but smile. Crabbe and Goyle gave their usual grunts of laughter; Pansy Parkinson shrieked with glee. Harry forced his face into a scowl and turned away.

. . .

The first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer. Harry felt optimistic about Gryffindor’s chances – they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy’s team – but Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers and intimidation, and turned a shade paler every day.

When Slytherins, some of them seventh-years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, ‘Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?’ he didn’t laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they came within sight of each other), Ron’s ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time, too.

When it was finally time to get up on the field, the Gryffindor Quidditch team shouldered their brooms and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them, in which Harry could hear singing, though it was muffled by the cheers and whistles.

The Slytherin team was standing waiting for them. Their new Captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley Dursley, with massive fore arms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters’ bats.

Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. His Quidditch shirt fitted more tightly around his shoulders than last year, Harry noted.

He sighed deeply. Draco Malfoy in his Quidditch uniform was a sight for sore eyes.

Malfoy caught Harry staring and smirked, for some reason tapping a crown-shaped badge on his chest, and before Harry could help himself, he beamed back at him. It seemed to confuse Draco. It confused Harry too.

The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upwards.

Out of the corner of his eye Harry saw Ron streak off towards the goal hoops. Harry zoomed higher, dodging a Bludger, and set off on a wide lap of the pitch, gazing around for a glint of gold.

On the other side of the stadium, Draco Malfoy was doing exactly the same.

Lee Jordan’s commentary rang through the stadium and Harry listened as hard as he could through the wind whistling in his ears and the din of the crowd, all yelling and booing and singing.

‘– dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what’s that they’re singing?’

And as Lee paused to listen, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands:

‘Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That’s why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, he always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King.’

Harry swerved, his insides boiling at what he had just heard.

‘Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King.’

Harry could not help himself: abandoning his search for the Snitch, he wheeled around to watch Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goal hoops while the massive Warrington pelted towards him.

‘- and it’s Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he’s out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead – ’

A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands below: ‘Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring…’

‘ – so it’s the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team – come on, Ron!’

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherins’ end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them straight through Ron’s central hoop.

‘Slytherin score!’ came Lee’s voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below, ‘bad luck, Ron.’

Harry realised he had been stationary in midair for over a minute, watching the progress of the match without sparing a thought for the whereabouts of the Snitch; horrified, he went into a dive and started circling the pitch again, staring around, trying to ignore the chorus now thundering through the stadium: ‘WEASLEY IS OUR KING, WEASLEY IS OUR KING…’

There was no sign of the Snitch anywhere he looked; Malfoy was still circling the stadium just as he was. They passed one another midway around the pitch, going in opposite directions, and Harry heard Malfoy singing loudly: ‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN…’

Harry ducked a Bludger that Crabbe had sent rocketing in his direction and resumed his frantic scouring of the pitch for the Snitch, keeping one eye on Malfoy in case he showed signs of having spotted it, but Malfoy, like him, was continuing to soar around the stadium, searching fruitlessly…

‘WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN, WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN!’

Then Harry saw it at last: the tiny fluttering Golden Snitch was hovering feet from the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

He dived…

In a matter of seconds, Malfoy was streaking out of the sky on Harry’s left, a green and silver blur lying flat on his broom… The Snitch skirted the foot of one of the goal hoops and scooted off towards the other side of the stands; its change of direction suited Malfoy, who was nearer.

Harry pulled his Firebolt around, he and Malfoy were now neck and neck…

Feet from the ground, Harry lifted his right hand from his broom, stretching towards the Snitch… to his right, Malfoy’s arm extended too, was reaching, groping…

It was over in two breathless, desperate, windswept seconds – Harry’s fingers closed around the tiny, struggling ball – Malfoy’s fingernails scrabbled the back of Harrys hand hopelessly – Harry pulled his broom upwards, holding the struggling ball in his hand and the Gryffindor spectators screamed their approval…

They were saved, it did not matter that Ron had let in plenty of goals, nobody would remember as long as Gryffindor had won–

WHAM.

A Bludger hit Harry squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom.

Luckily he was only five or six feet above the ground, having dived so low to catch the Snitch, but he was winded all the same as he landed flat on his back on the frozen pitch.

He heard Madam Hooch’s shrill whistle, then Angelina’s frantic voice: ‘Are you all right?’

‘Course I am,’ said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet.

Madam Hooch was zooming towards one of the Slytherin players above him, though he could not see who it was from this angle.

‘It was that thug Crabbe,’ said Angelina angrily, ‘he whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you’d got the Snitch – but we won, Harry, we won!’

Harry heard a snort from behind him and turned around, still holding the Snitch tightly in his hand:

Draco Malfoy had landed closeby. White-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer.

‘Saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you?’ he said to Harry. ‘I’ve never seen a worse Keeper… but then he was born in a bin… Did you like my lyrics, Potter?’

Draco Malfoy had made that cruel song about Ron.

Harry didn’t answer. All around him the rest of the team were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph; all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goal posts and seemed to be making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone.

‘We wanted to write another couple of verses!’ Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. ‘But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see –’

‘Talk about sour grapes,’ said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look.

‘– we couldn’t fit in useless loser either,’ Draco kept shouting, his eyes fixated on Harry. ‘For his father, you know –’

Fred and George had realised what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand, they stiffened, looking round at Malfoy.

‘Leave it!’ said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. ‘Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little -’

‘– but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?’ said Malfoy, sneering. ‘Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles, even the Weasleys’ hovel smells OK -’

Harry grabbed hold of George. Meanwhile, it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly.

Harry looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Sludger attack.

‘Or perhaps,’ said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, ‘you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasleys pigsty reminds you of it —’

Harry was not aware of releasing George, all he knew was that a second later both of them were sprinting towards Malfoy. He had completely forgotten that all the teachers were watching: all he wanted to do was cause Malfoy as much pain as possible; with no time to draw out his wand, he merely drew back the fist clutching the Snitch and sank it as hard as he could into Malfoys face -

‘Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!’

He could hear girls’ voices screaming, Malfoy yelling, George swearing, a whistle blowing and the bellowing of the crowd around him, but he did not care. The only thing he cared about was hurting Malfoy as much as he’d hurt Harry.

Not until somebody in the vicinity yelled ‘Impedimenta!’ and he was knocked over backwards by the force of the spell, did he abandon the attempt to punch every inch of Malfoy he could reach.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ screamed Madam Hooch, as Harry leapt to his feet. It seemed to have been her who had hit him with the Impediment Jinx; she was holding her whistle in one hand and a wand in the other; her broom lay abandoned several feet away.

Malfoy was curled up on the ground, whimpering and moaning, his nose bloody, but Harry was far from done with him. It was like a movie was playing in his head with every sneer, every scorn, all the angry looks and the loathing in Draco’s eyes.

“Oh, you’re so dumb” – “Mudbloods and Mugglelovers first! Well, second” – “Can you read?” – “You chose the losing side, Potter” – “Alright, _mate_ ” – “I don’t care.”

Every time Harry thought his heart might be healing, Malfoy was there, shouting at him, begging for a response, trying everything he could think of to get his attention.

Harry lost it. Arms were preventing him from getting back at Draco, so he started shouting.

‘You want a reaction, you asshole?’ He heard himself roar. ‘I’m in _love_ with you!’

Over the ringing in his ear and the red haze clouding his vision, it was hard to notice anyone else. He was focused on the boy groaning in the grass, who looked up, eyes like saucers and his bloody mouth hanging open.

Harry pulled an arm loose to fire a wild kissing charm at Draco’s sore eye.

‘No!’ bellowed Draco. ‘You don’t get to anymore!’

Madam Hooch’s piercing words were the first thing Harry registered again. ‘I’ve never seen behaviour like it – back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now.’

Harry tore his gaze away from Draco. George was sporting a swollen lip; Fred was still being forcibly restrained by the three Chasers, and Crabbe was cackling in the background.

Harry and George turned on their heels and marched off the pitch, both panting, neither saying a word to the other The howling and jeering of the crowd grew fainter and fainter until they reached the Entrance Hall, where they could hear nothing except the sound of their own footsteps.

Harry became aware that something was still struggling in his right hand, the knuckles of which he had bruised against Draco’s jaw. Looking down, he saw the Snitch’s silver wings protruding from between his fingers, struggling for release.

They had barely reached the door of Professor McGonagall’s office when she came marching along the corridor behind them. She was wearing a Gryffindor scarf, but tore it from her throat with shaking hands as she strode towards them, looking livid.

‘In!’ she said furiously, pointing to the door. Harry and George entered. She strode around behind her desk and faced them, quivering with rage as she threw the Gryffindor scarf aside onto the floor.

‘Well?’ she said. ‘I have never seen such a disgraceful exhibition. Two on one! Explain yourselves!’

‘Malfoy provoked us,’ said Harry stiffly.

‘Provoked you?’ shouted Professor McGonagall, slamming a fist onto her desk so that her tartan tin slid sideways off it and burst open, littering the floor with Ginger Newts. ‘He’d just lost, hadn’t he? Of course he wanted to provoke you! But what on earth he can have said that justified what you two did?’

McGonagall’s shouts managed to break through the red mist in Harry’s head. He looked up and thought about the question. Draco’d said so much to justify what Harry did.

Right?

Slowly it started to dawn on him what had just happened. Had he really beaten up Draco Malfoy? So badly he spat up blood and his face was swollen?

And did Harry – he had to catch his breath for a second – had he declared his love to Draco Malfoy in front of the entire school?

McGonagall punished them somehow, but Harry kept reliving the moment in his mind: “I’m in _love_ with you!”

Their walk back to the Gryffindor common room felt like a walk of shame. Everyone was pointing, laughing, whispering.

This time, Harry was thankful for Ron and Hermione not mentioning Draco. He wished to forget this entire afternoon ever happened. It seemed like Ron felt the same way, although for other reasons. They sat in silence the entire night.

. . .

Somehow – to Harry’s bewilderment – life went on. Neither his declaration of love nor the fact that it felt like he had a bleeding, Draco-sized hole in his chest, changed anything whatsoever. Everyone still expected him to get out of bed in the morning and show up in classes every day. They even had this ridiculous notion that he was supposed to eat. It was all incredibly difficult.

It turned out to be normal at Hogwarts to carry on as usual with huge gaping wounds: when Hagrid finally returned from whatever secret mission he’d been on, he carried a massive wound on his face, but he picked up Care of Magical Creatures lessons straight away anyway.

‘We’re workin’ in here today!’ Hagrid called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the Forbidden Forest. ‘Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.’

‘What prefers the dark?’ Harry heard Malfoy say sharply to Crabbe and Goyle, a trace of panic in his voice. ‘What did he say prefers the dark – did you hear?’

Harry remembered the only other occasion on which Malfoy had entered the Forest; he had not been very brave then, either. He smiled to himself; after the Quidditch match anything that caused Malfoy discomfort was all right with him.

‘Ready?’ said Hagrid cheerfully, looking around at the class. ‘Right, well, I’ve bin savin’ a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we’d go an’ see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we’re studyin’ today is pretty rare, I reckon I’m probably the on’y person in Britain who’s managed ter train ‘em.’

‘And you’re sure they’re trained, are you?’ said Malfoy, the panic in his voice even more pronounced. ‘Only it wouldn’t be the first time you’d brought wild stuff to class, would it?’

The Slytherins murmured agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too.

‘Course they’re trained,’ said Hagrid, scowling.

‘So what happened to your face, then?’ demanded Malfoy.

Harry felt a weird mixture of fury and fondness. It was a feeling he was going to have to get used to around Malfoy. Didn’t Draco understand that his need to yell out every single thought made it so much harder for Harry to get over him?

‘Mind yer own business!’ said Hagrid, angrily. ‘Now, if yeh’ve finished askin’ stupid questions, follow me!’

Hagrid had decided to show them the Thestrals that pulled the coaches that took the students from the Hogwarts express to the castle at the start of each year. Apparently, they were invisible to everyone except people who saw someone dying.

‘Excuse me,’ said Malfoy in a sneering voice, ‘but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?’

Harry sighed. The lesson felt longer than any other class ever did.

‘I’m surprised so many people could see them,’ said Ron after the hour was finally over, walking back up to the castle. ‘Three in a class – ’

‘Yeah, Weasley, we were just wondering,’ said a malicious voice.

Unheard by any of them in the muffling snow, Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle were walking along right behind them.

‘D’you reck on if you saw someone snuff it you’d be able to see the Quaffle better?’

He, Crabbe and Goyle roared with laughter as they pushed past on their way to the castle, then broke into a chorus of ‘Weasley is our King’.

Ron’s ears turned scarlet, while Harry wished he could just die painlessly on the spot.

. . .

During their next trip to Hogsmeade, Hermione had arranged for Harry to do an interview with Rita Skeeter. It would be published in the Quibbler, Luna’s father’s magazine. The idea had taken Harry quite by surprise, but he had agreed to tell Rita his account of what happened that night on the graveyard – the night Voldemort returned – the night Cedric got murdered.

What Harry hadn’t been realizing at the time was how many people would read it, and what it would mean to some people – some person – that he mentioned every death eater he’d seen that night, including certain people’s - a certain person's - father.

What’s done was done though, Harry kept telling himself to ward of his guilt. It wasn’t as if Draco and Harry were on their way to getting back together anyway; article or no article. And people needed to know the truth. That was the most important thing. Harry kept telling himself all that, although it wasn't very effective.

Harry saw Malfoy one day with Crabbe and Goyle, their heads together in the library; they were with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked round at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment: Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe.

. . .

It didn’t take Malfoy long to retaliate Harry, and he felt stupid for not expecting it sooner. Harry had, after all, not only told the world how evil Malfoy’s dad was, but he’d also decided to host his anti-Umbridge club in the same space he and Draco had their first date in. It looked different of course, but that was because the Room of Requirements changed into whatever you needed most at the time.

So when Dobby popped into their meeting one day, warning them that Umbridge was coming, Harry didn’t doubt for one second who was behind it.

Harry glanced left and right, the others were all moving so fast he caught only glimpses of flying heels at either end of the corridor before they vanished. He started to run right; there was a boys’ bathroom up ahead, he could pretend he’d been in there all the time if he could just reach it –

‘AAARGH!’

Something caught him around the ankles and he fell spectacularly, skidding along on his front for six feet before coming to a halt. Someone behind him was laughing.

He rolled over onto his back and saw Malfoy concealed in a niche beneath an ugly dragon-shaped vase – his favourite spot, Harry remembered, for secretly hooking up with Harry last year.

‘Trip Jinx, Potter!’ he said.

‘I remember it, Malfoy!’

‘Hey Professor – PROFESSOR! I’ve got one!’

It infuriated Harry. ‘Not just anyone, though, am I?’ he shouted. As if Harry was some random face in the crowd to Draco.

He tried to get up, but Draco was pulling him back. Frustrated, Harry slouched back. ‘Whatever happened to: _you’re such a big deal, Potter_!’

Draco jerked at his wand, making Harry’s leg painfully twist. ‘It vanished with that interview.’

So it was true: the interview had been the final blow to what once was their friendship.

Umbridge came bustling round the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile.

‘It’s him!’ she said jubilantly at the sight of Harry on the floor. ‘Excellent, Draco, excellent, oh, very good – fifty points to Slytherin!’

‘We’re all so proud, Draconius,’ scorned Harry.

‘I’ll take him from here… stand up, Potter!’

Harry got to his feet, glaring at the pair of them. He had never seen Umbridge looking so happy. She seized his arm in a vice-like grip and turned, beaming broadly, to Malfoy.

‘You hop along –’

‘Yeah, hop along, teacher’s pet,’ muttered Harry.

‘– and see if you can round up any more of them, Draco,’ she said. ‘Tell the others to look in the library – anybody out of breath – check the bathrooms, Miss Parkinson can do the girls’ ones – off you go.’

Malfoy didn’t even take a second look at Harry and Harry couldn’t stand it. ‘Low blow, Malfoy!’ he bellowed.

Malfoy disappeared around the corner.

‘EVEN FOR YOU!’

‘Now, now, Potter… You can come with me to the Headmasters office,’ Umbridge said in her softest, most dangerous voice.

It wasn’t until later that afternoon that Harry found out it hadn’t been Draco who told Umbridge where they were meeting. It had been a friend of Cho. To Harry it didn’t matter, Draco had betrayed them either way. Even if he hadn’t told Umbridge where they were practicing, he still delivered Harry to her like a piece of cheap meat.

. . .

The whole incident – starting with Draco ratting them out, in one form or another – ended up with Albus Dumbledore fleeing the castle. From that moment on, Dolores Umbridge became headmaster of Hogwarts. Whether anyone wanted her to or not.

‘Oh, I expect she really fancied herself sitting up there in the Heads office,’ said Hermione viciously, as they walked up the stone steps into the Entrance Hall. ‘Lording it over all the other teachers, the stupid puffed-up, power-crazy old –’

‘Now, do you really want to finish that sentence, Granger?’

Draco Malfoy had slid out from behind the door, closely followed by Crabbe and Goyle. His pale, pointed face was alight with malice. ‘Afraid I’m going to have to dock a few points from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff,’ he drawled.

‘It’s only teachers who can dock points from houses, Malfoy,’ said Ernie at once.

‘Yeah, we’re prefects, too, remember?’ snarled Ron.

‘I know prefects can’t dock points, Weasel King,’ sneered Malfoy. Crabbe and Goyle sniggered. ‘But members of the Inquisitorial Squad –’

‘The what?’ said Hermione sharply.

The Inquisitorial Squad, Granger,’ said Malfoy, pointing towards a tiny silver I on his robes just beneath his prefect’s badge. ‘A select group of students who are supportive of the Ministry of Magic, hand-picked by Professor Umbridge.’

Harry snorted derisively, a skill he’d picked up from the master himself, who ignored him.

‘Anyway, members of the Inquisitorial Squad do have the power to dock points… so, Granger, I’ll have five from you for being rude about our new Headmistress. Macmillan, five for contradicting me. Five because I don’t like you anymore, Potter...’

‘Harsh,’ uttered Ron heartily. Him and Hermione had to stop Harry or he’d attacked Malfoy again.

‘Unnecessary, Dra!’ Harry’s voice broke.

Draco went on undisturbed. ‘Weasley, your shirts untucked, so I’ll have another five for that. Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re a Mudblood, Granger, so ten off for that.’

Ron pulled out his wand, but Hermione pushed it away, whispering, ‘Don’t!’

‘Wise move, Granger,’ breathed Malfoy. ‘New Head, new times… be good now, Potty… Weasel King…’ Laughing heartily, he strode away with Crabbe and Goyle.

. . .

As if the year wasn’t horrible enough, Harry had to learn occlumency too – from no less than his most loathed professor. And Harry was making no progress at all. 

‘On the count of three then,’ said Snape lazily. ‘One – two -‘

Snape’s office door banged open and Draco Malfoy sped in.

‘Professor Snape, sir – oh – sorry – ’ Malfoy was looking at Snape and Harry in some surprise.

‘It’s all right, Draco,’ said Snape, lowering his wand. ‘Potter is here for a little remedial Potions.’

Harry had not seen Malfoy look so gleeful since Umbridge had turned up to inspect Hagrid.

‘I didn’t know,’ he said, leering at Harry, who knew his face was burning.

He would have given a great deal to be able to shout the truth at Malfoy – or, even better, to hit him with a good curse.

‘Well, Draco, what is it?’ asked Snape.

‘It’s Professor Umbridge, sir – she needs your help,’ said Malfoy. ‘They’ve found Montague, sir, he’s turned up jammed inside a toilet on the fourth floor.’

‘How did he get in there?’ demanded Snape.

‘I don’t know, sir, he’s a bit confused.’

‘Very well, very well. Potter,’ said Snape, ‘we shall resume this lesson tomorrow evening.’

He turned and swept from his office. Malfoy mouthed, ‘Remedial Potions?’ at Harry behind Snape’s back before following him.

Seething, Harry replaced his wand inside his robes and made to leave the room. At least he had twenty-four more hours in which to practise; he knew he ought to feel grateful for the narrow escape, though it was hard that it came at the expense of Malfoy thinking he was failing Potions without his help. Harry _was_ failing, but he’d rather eat slugs than let Malfoy know.

He was at the office door when he saw it: a patch of shivering light dancing on the door frame. The light was coming from the Pensieve sitting on Snape’s desk. The silver-white contents were ebbing and swirling within. Snape’s thoughts… things he did not want Harry to see if he broke through Snape’s defences accidentally… Harry gazed at the Pensieve, curiosity welling inside him… what was it that Snape was so keen to hide from Harry?

His brain seemed to be in limbo… it would be insane to do the thing he was so strongly tempted to do… he was trembling… Snape could be back at any moment… but Harry thought of Malfoy’s jeering face, and a reckless daring seized him.

Afterwards, he wished he hadn’t. He’d seen his own father bullying Snape, hanging him upside down from his ankles. He had once overheard Professor McGonagall saying that his father and Sirius had been troublemakers at school, but she had described them as forerunners of the Weasley twins. Harry could not imagine Fred and George dangling someone upside-down for the fun of it… not unless they really loathed them… perhaps Malfoy… or somebody who really deserved it.

. . .

Surprisingly, Snape catching Harry peeking into his worst memories did not improve their student-teacher relationship. The next Potions class, Harry had just finished a rather difficult Potion and turned away when he heard a smashing noise.

Malfoy gave a gleeful yell of laughter, which Harry wished he’d heard before he loathed him, so he could have enjoyed it accordingly. Harry whipped around.

His potion sample lay in pieces on the floor and Snape was surveying him with a look of gloating pleasure. ‘Whoops,’ he said softly. ‘Another zero, then, Potter.’

Snape didn’t want to teach Harry Occlumency anymore. This suited Harry very well; he was quite busy and tense enough without extra classes with Snape.

With their OWL’s coming up, Harry didn’t have any space in his schedule to think about wars or enemies or ex-lovers, or all those three wrapped up into one, and Harry found himself thankful for the distraction.

Even Hermione was much too preoccupied these days to badger him about Occlumency; she was spending a lot of time muttering to herself, and had not laid out any elf clothes for days.

She was not the only person acting oddly as the OWLs drew steadily nearer. Ernie Macmillan had developed an irritating habit of interrogating people about their revision practices. ‘How many hours d’you think you’re doing a day?’ he demanded of Harry and Ron as they queued outside Herbology, a manic gleam in his eyes. ‘I’m doing eight,’ said Ernie, puffing out his chest.

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy had found a different way to induce panic.

‘Of course, it’s not _what_ you know,’ he was heard to tell Crabbe and Goyle loudly outside Potions a few days before the exams were to start, ‘it’s _who_ you know. Now, Father’s been friendly with the head of the Wizarding Examinations Authority for years — old Griselda March banks – we’ve had her round for dinner and everything…’

It was unfortunate that of all moments, Harry got pulled right back into his worries about wars, enemies and ex-lovers during his Practical Charms exam.

Professor Flitwick pointed Harry towards what looked like the very oldest and baldest examiner who was sitting behind a small table in a far corner, a short distance from Professor March banks, who was halfway through testing Draco Malfoy.

As Harry walked past him, Draco didn’t look up, but his face seemed to follow him slightly.

‘Potter, is it?’ said Professor Tofty, consulting his notes and peering over his pince-nez at Harry as he approached. ‘The famous Potter?’

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry distinctly saw Malfoy throw a scathing look over at him; the wine-glass he'd been levitating fell to the floor and smashed.

Harry could not suppress a grin.

Professor Tofty smiled back at him encouragingly. ‘That’s it,’ he said in his quavery old voice, ‘no need to be nervous. Now, if I could ask you to take this egg cup and make it do some cartwheels for me.’

On the whole, Harry thought it went rather well. His Levitation Charm was certainly much better than Malfoy’s had been, though he wished he had not mixed up the incantations for Colour Change and Growth Charms, so that the rat he was supposed to be turning orange swelled shockingly and was the size of a badger before Harry could rectify his mistake. He could only hope that Malfoy thought it was on purpose.

. . .

During his History of Magic exam, Harry fell asleep and dreamt of something terrible. It seemed that Sirius was being tortured by Voldemort.

Harry hastened to find a way to contact the order, and his friends from the DA jumped to his aid. Unfortunately, Harry was caught by Umbridge when he was using her fireplace to do so.

‘You had your head in my fire. With whom have you been communicating?’

‘No one –’ said Harry, trying to pull away from her.

‘Liar!’ shouted Umbridge. She threw him from her and he slammed into the desk. Now he could see Hermione pinioned against the wall by Millicent Bulstrode.

Malfoy was leaning on the windowsill, smirking as he threw Harry’s wand into the air one-handed and caught it again. It was an image Harry would like a moving painting of, in better days.

Harry forced himself not to look. He really didn’t like Malfoy’s role in Umbridge’s game. Sometimes he felt like Draco was doing all this just to upset Harry, just to oppose himself even more to him; to try and convince the world that he hated Harry. But that was probably giving himself too much credit, Harry thought. It was more likely that Draco Malfoy truly didn’t care one bit about Harry Potter anymore.

There was a commotion outside and several large Slytherins entered, each gripping Ron, Ginny, Luna and Neville, who was trapped in a strangle hold by Crabbe and looked in imminent danger of suffocation. All four of them had been gagged.

‘Good, good,’ said Umbridge, watching Ginny’s struggles. ‘Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley free zone, doesn’t it?’

Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically. Harry couldn’t help but shoot him a look, which Draco didn’t even notice. Harry remembered days when Draco wouldn’t miss any of Harry’s looks, even the ones he tried to hide.

Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered arm chair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed.

‘So, Potter,’ she said. ‘You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,’ she nodded at Ron — Malfoy laughed even louder – ‘to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department. Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone.’

Malfoy and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. Harry vividly recalled the four Stunners fired at Professor McGonagall as she tried to defend Hagrid; how her figure glowed an eerie red and landed hard on her back, unmoving. He found he was so full of rage and hatred he was shaking.

‘I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. I do not want to,’ said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, ‘but sometimes circumstances justify the use… I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice – the Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,’ said Umbridge quietly.

Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face. Harry couldn’t help but stare: how could Draco possibly still be interested in the Dark Arts when it was practiced on Harry? Did he hate Harry that much?

All fear left Harry, watching Draco's eagerness to see Harry be tortured. No Cruciatus Curse could ever be worse than the pain he already felt.

‘NO!’ shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. ‘No – Harry – we’ll have to tell her!’

‘Come on then, girl, come on!’

‘Well,’ gulped Hermione into her hands, ‘well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore. We needed to tell him something important! We… we wanted to tell him it’s r-ready!’ choked Hermione.

‘What’s ready?’ demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione’s shoulders again and shook her slightly. ‘What’s ready, girl?’

‘The… the weapon,’ said Hermione.

Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant. ‘Lead me to the weapon,’ she said.

‘Oh, I’d love it if the wh-whole school knew where it was, and how to u-use it, and then if you annoy any of them they’ll be able to s-sort you out!’

These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge: she glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face.

Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment, then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.

‘All right, dear, let’s make it just you and me… and we’ll take Potter, too, shall we? Get up, now.’

‘Professor,’ said Malfoy eagerly, ‘Professor Umbridge, I think some of the Squad should come with you to look after –’

‘I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?’ asked Umbridge sharply. ‘You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these – ’ she gestured around at Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna ‘– escape.’

‘All right,’ said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed.

Ha! Harry wanted to shout.

. . .

Hermione’s plan worked out perfectly. Umbridge got dragged into the Forbidden Forest by Centaurs, and afterwards, the DA went to the Ministry to save Sirius Black. Doing so put Harry right in front of Draco’s dad: Lucius Malfoy. This time he wasn’t just cheering Voldemort on, he was actively carrying out an assignment. He actively tried to murder Harry.

It changed everything for Harry, even more so than seeing Lucius on the graveyard. Draco had been right, in that coach at the start of the schoolyear: him and Harry could not be friends anymore. There was no ignoring it any longer. Draco’s family wanted Harry and his friends dead, and Harry and his friends wanted Draco’s family dead.

Harry descended the last marble step into the Entrance Hall when Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle emerged from a door on the right that Harry knew led down to the Slytherin common room. He knew, because he’d been there a lot. 

Harry stopped dead; so did Malfoy and the others. The only sounds were the shouts, laughter and splashes drifting into the Hall from the grounds through the open front doors.

Malfoy glanced around – Harry knew he was checking for signs of teachers – then he looked back at Harry and said in a low voice, ‘You’re dead, Potter.’

Harry raised his eyebrows. ‘Funny,’ he said, ‘you’d think I’d have stopped walking around…’

Malfoy looked angrier than Harry had ever seen him; he felt a kind of detached satisfaction at the sight of his pale, pointed face contorted with rage.

‘You’re going to pay,’ said Malfoy in a voice barely louder than a whisper. ‘I’m going to make you pay for what you’ve done to my father…’

‘Well, I’m terrified now,’ said Harry sarcastically. ‘I s’pose Lord Voldemort’s just a warm-up act compared to you three – what’s the matter?’ he added, for Malfoy Crabbe and Goyle had all looked stricken at the sound of the name. ‘He’s a mate of your dad, isn’t he? Not scared of him, are you?’

‘You think you’re such a big deal, Potter,’ said Malfoy, advancing now, Crabbe and Goyle flanking him.

Harry advanced right back at Malfoy. ‘I remember someone else thinking that.’

‘You wait,’ Malfoy snapped. ‘I’ll have you. You can’t land my father in prison.’

‘I thought I just had,’ said Harry.

‘The Dementors have left Azkaban,’ said Malfoy quietly. ‘Dad and the others’ll be out in no time…’

‘Yeah, I expect they will,’ said Harry ‘Still, at least everyone knows what scumbags they are now.’

Malfoy’s hand flew towards his wand, but Harry was too quick for him; he had drawn his own wand before Malfoy’s fingers had even entered the pocket of his robes. Draco might excel in Potions, but Harry beat him at Defense Against the Dark Arts any day.

‘Potter!’

The voice rang across the entrance Hall. Snape had emerged from the staircase leading down to his office.

‘What are you doing, Potter?’ said Snape, as coldly as ever, as he strode over to the four of them.

‘I’m trying to decide what curse to use on Malfoy, sir,’ said Harry fiercely.

Snape stared at him. ‘Put that wand away at once,’ he said curtly. ‘Ten points from Gryff –’

Snape looked up. Professor McGonagall had just stumped up the stone steps into the castle; she was carrying a tartan carpet bag in one hand and leaning heavily on a walking stick with her other but otherwise looked quite well.

‘Professor McGonagall!’ said Snape, striding forwards. ‘Out of St Mungo’s, I see!’

‘Yes, Professor Snape,’ said Professor McGonagall, shrugging off her travelling cloak, ‘I’m quite as good as new. You two – Crabbe – Goyle.’

She beckoned them forwards imperiously and thrust her carpet bag into Crabbe’s chest and her cloak into Goyle’s. ‘Take these up to my office for me.’

They turned and stumped away up the marble staircase.

‘Well, Potter, Malfoy, I think you ought to be outside on a glorious day like this,’ Professor McGonagall continued briskly.

Harry did not need telling twice. He thrust his wand back inside his robes and headed straight for the front doors – without another glance at Draco Malfoy.


	6. Chapter 6

A chilly mist drifted over a dirty river that wound between overgrown, rubbish-strewn banks. An immense chimney, relic of a disused mill, reared up, shadowy and ominous.

With a very faint pop, a slim, hooded figure appeared out of thin air on the edge of the river. The figure seemed to take its bearings for a few moments, then set off with light, quick strides, its long cloak rustling over the grass.

With a second and louder pop, another hooded figure materialized. ‘Wait! Cissy – Narcissa – listen to me – ’

The second woman caught the first and seized her arm, but the other wrenched it away. ‘Go back, Bella!’

Narcissa had knocked on the door before Bella, cursing under her breath, had caught up. Together they stood waiting, panting slightly, breathing in the smell of the dirty river that was carried to them on the night breeze.

After a few seconds, they heard movement behind the door and it opened a crack. A sliver of a man could be seen looking out at them, a man with long black hair parted in curtains around a sallow face and black eyes.

Narcissa threw back her hood. She was so pale that she seemed to shine in the darkness; the long blonde hair streaming down her back gave her the look of a drowned person.

‘Narcissa!’ said the man, opening the door a little wider, so that the light fell upon her and her sister too. ‘What a pleasant surprise!

‘Severus,’ she said in a strained whisper. ‘May I speak to you? It’s urgent.’

‘But of course.’

He stood back to allow her to pass him into the house. Her still-hooded sister followed without invitation. ‘Snape,’ she said curtly as she passed him.

‘Bellatrix,’ he replied, his thin mouth curling into a slightly mocking smile as he closed the door with a snap behind them. ‘What help do you require, Narcissa? If you are imagining I can persuade the Dark Lord to change his mind, I am afraid there is no hope, none at all.’

‘Severus,’ she whispered, tears sliding down her pale cheeks. ‘My son… my only son...’

‘Draco should be proud,’ said Bellatrix indifferently. ‘The Dark Lord is granting him a great honour. And I will say this for Draco: he isn’t shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect – ’

Narcissa began to cry in earnest, gazing beseechingly all the while at Snape. ‘That’s because he is sixteen and has no idea what lies in store! Why, Severus? Why my son? It is too dangerous! This is vengeance for Lucius’s mistake, I know it!’

Snape said nothing. He looked away from the sight of her tears as though they were indecent, but he could not pretend not to hear her.

‘That’s why he’s chosen Draco, isn’t it?’ she persisted. ‘To punish Lucius?’

‘If Draco succeeds,’ said Snape, still looking away from her, ‘he will be honoured above all others.’

‘But he won’t succeed!’ sobbed Narcissa. ‘How can he, when the Dark Lord himself– ?’

Bellatrix gasped; Narcissa seemed to lose her nerve. ‘I only meant... that nobody has yet succeeded… Severus… please… You are, you have always been, Draco’s favourite teacher.… You are Lucius’s old friend… I beg you… You are the Dark Lord’s favourite, his most trusted advisor… Will you speak to him, persuade him – ?’

‘The Dark Lord will not be persuaded, and I am not stupid enough to attempt it,’ said Snape flatly. ‘I cannot pretend that the Dark Lord is not angry with Lucius. Lucius was supposed to be in charge. He got himself captured, along with how many others, and failed to retrieve the prophecy into the bargain. Yes, the Dark Lord is angry, Narcissa, very angry indeed.’

‘Then I am right, he has chosen Draco in revenge!’ choked Narcissa. ‘He does not mean him to succeed, he wants him to be killed trying!’

When Snape said nothing, Narcissa seemed to lose what little self-restraint she still possessed. Standing up, she staggered to Snape and seized the front of his robes. Her face close to his, her tears falling onto his chest, she gasped, ‘ _You_ could do it. You could do it instead of Draco, Severus. You would succeed, of course you would, and he would reward you beyond all of us –’

Snape caught hold of her wrists and removed her clutching hands. Looking down into her tearstained face, he said slowly, ‘He intends me to do it in the end, I think. But he is determined that Draco should try first. You see, in the unlikely event that Draco succeeds, I shall be able to remain at Hogwarts a little longer, fulfilling my useful role as spy.’

‘In other words, it doesn’t matter to him if Draco is killed!’

‘The Dark Lord is very angry,’ repeated Snape quietly. ‘He failed to hear the prophecy. You know as well as I do, Narcissa, that he does not forgive easily.’

She crumpled, falling at his feet, sobbing and moaning on the floor. ‘My only son… my only son...’

‘You should be proud!’ said Bellatrix ruthlessly. ‘If I had sons, I would be glad to give them up to the service of the Dark Lord!’

Narcissa gave a little scream of despair and clutched at her long blonde hair. Snape stooped, seized her by the arms, lifted her up, and steered her back onto the sofa. He then poured her more wine and forced the glass into her hand. ‘Narcissa, that’s enough. Drink this. Listen to me.’

She quieted a little; slopping wine down herself, she took a shaky sip.

‘It might be possible... for me to help Draco.’

She sat up, her face paper-white, her eyes huge. ‘Severus – oh, Severus – you would help him? Would you look after him, see he comes to no harm?’

‘I can try.’

She flung away her glass; it skidded across the table as she slid off the sofa into a kneeling position at Snape’s feet, seized his hand in both of hers, and pressed her lips to it. ‘If you are there to protect him… Severus, will you swear it? Will you make the Unbreakable Vow?’

‘The Unbreakable Vow?’

Snape’s expression was blank, unreadable. His black eyes were fixed upon Narcissa’s tear-filled blue ones as she continued to clutch his hand.

‘Certainly, Narcissa, I shall make the Unbreakable Vow,’ he said quietly. ‘Perhaps your sister will consent to be our Bonder.’

Bellatrix’s mouth fell open. Snape lowered himself so that he was kneeling opposite Narcissa. Beneath Bellatrix’s astonished gaze, they grasped right hands.

‘You will need your wand, Bellatrix,’ said Snape coldly.

She drew it, still looking astonished.

‘And you will need to move a little closer,’ he said.

She stepped forward so that she stood over them, and placed the tip of her wand on their linked hands.

Narcissa spoke. ‘Will you, Severus, watch over my son, Draco, as he attempts to fulfil the Dark Lord’s wishes?’

‘I will,’ said Snape.

A thin tongue of brilliant flame issued from the wand and wound its way around their hands like a red-hot wire.

‘And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?’

‘I will,’ said Snape.

A second tongue of flame shot from the wand and interlinked with the first, making a fine, glowing chain.

‘And, should it prove necessary... if it seems Draco will fail...’ whispered Narcissa (Snape’s hand twitched within hers, but he did not draw away), ‘will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?’

There was a moment’s silence. Bellatrix watched, her wand upon their clasped hands, her eyes wide. ‘I will,’ said Snape.

Bellatrix’s astounded face glowed red in the blaze of a third unique of flame, which shot from the wand, twisted with the others, and bound itself thickly around their clasped hands, like a rope, like a fiery snake.  
  


. . .

Later that summer, Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered Madam Malkin together. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than they heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes in spangled green and blue.

‘... not a child, in case you haven’t noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone.’

There was a clucking noise, and a voice Harry recognized as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, said, ‘Now, dear, your mother’s quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it’s nothing to do with being a child –’

‘Watch where you’re sticking that pin, will you!’

A teenage boy with a pale, pointed face and white-blond hair appeared from behind the rack, wearing a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. He strode to the mirror and examined himself; it was a few moments before he noticed Harry, Ron, and Hermione reflected over his shoulder. His light grey eyes narrowed.

‘If you’re wondering what the smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in,’ said Draco Malfoy.

‘I don’t think there’s any need for language like that!’ said Madam Malkin, scurrying out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand. ‘And I don’t want wands drawn in my shop either!’ she added hastily, for a glance toward the door had shown her Harry and Ron both standing there with their wands out and pointing at Malfoy.

Hermione, who was standing slightly behind them, whispered, ‘No, don’t, honestly, it’s not worth it.’

‘Yeah, like you’d dare do magic out of school,’ sneered Malfoy. ‘Who blacked your eye, Granger? I want to send them flowers.’

‘That’s quite enough!’ said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. ‘Madam – please –’

Narcissa Malfoy strolled out from behind the clothes rack. ‘Put those away,’ she said coldly to Harry and Ron. ‘If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do.’

‘Really?’ said Harry, taking a step forward and gazing into the smoothly arrogant face that, for all its pallor, still resembled her sister’s. He was as tall as she was now. ‘Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?’

Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart. ‘Really, you shouldn’t accuse – dangerous thing to say – wands away, please!’

But Harry did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly. ‘I see that being Dumbledore’s favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won’t always be there to protect you.’

Harry looked mockingly all around the shop. ‘Wow... look at that... he’s not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!’

Malfoy made an angry movement toward Harry, but stumbled over his overlong robe. Ron laughed loudly. ‘Don’t you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!’ Malfoy snarled.

‘It’s all right, Draco,’ said Narcissa, restraining him with her thin white fingers upon his shoulder. ‘I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius.’

Harry raised his wand higher.

‘Harry, no!’ moaned Hermione, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. ‘Think… You mustn’t… You’ll be in such trouble… ’

Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn’t. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.

‘I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just –’

‘Ouch!’ bellowed Malfoy, slapping her hand away. ‘Watch where you’re putting your pins, woman! Mother – I don’t think I want these anymore –’

He pulled the robes over his head and threw them onto the floor at Madam Malkin’s feet.

‘You’re right, Draco,’ said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Hermione, ‘now I know the kind of scum that shops here.… We’ll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting’s.’

And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Malfoy taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out.

. . .

After getting their robes fitted, Harry, Ron and Hermione went to the new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes shop, when they saw Draco Malfoy hurrying up the street alone. As he passed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, he glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moved beyond the scope of the window and they lost sight of him.

‘Wonder where his mummy is?’ said Harry, frowning.

‘Given her the slip by the looks of it,’ said Ron.

‘Why, though?’ said Hermione.

Harry said nothing; he was thinking too hard. Narcissa Malfoy would not have let her precious son out of her sight willingly; Malfoy must have made a real effort to free himself from her clutches.

Harry, knowing Malfoy, was sure the reason could not be innocent.

He glanced around. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were bending over the Pygmy Puffs. Mr. Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.

‘Get under here, quick,’ said Harry, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.

‘Oh – I don’t know, Harry,’ said Hermione, looking uncertainly toward Mrs. Weasley.

‘Come on,’ said Ron.

She hesitated for a second longer, then ducked under the cloak with Harry and Ron. Nobody noticed them vanish; they were all too interested in Fred and George’s products. Harry, Ron, and Hermione squeezed their way out of the door as quickly as they could, but by the time they gained the street, Malfoy had disappeared just as successfully as they had.

‘He was going in that direction,’ murmured Harry as quietly as possible, so that the humming Hagrid would not hear them. ‘Cmon.’

They scurried along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione pointed ahead.

‘That’s him, isn’t it?’ she whispered. ‘Turning left?’

‘Big surprise,’ whispered Ron.

For Malfoy had glanced around, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.

‘Quick, or we’ll lose him,’ said Harry, speeding up.

‘Our feet’Il be seen!’ said Hermione anxiously, as the cloak flapped a little around their ankles; it was much more difficult hiding all three of them under the cloak nowadays.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Harry impatiently. ‘Just hurry!’

But Knockturn Alley, the side street devoted to the Dark Arts, looked completely deserted. They peered into windows as they passed, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all. Harry supposed it was a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artifacts – or at least, to be seen buying them.

Hermione gave his arm a hard pinch.

‘Ouch!’

‘Shh! Look! He’s in there!’ she breathed in Harry’s ear.

They had drawn level with the only shop in Knockturn Alley that Harry had ever visited, Borgin and Burkes, which sold a wide variety of sinister objects. There in the midst of the cases full of skulls and old bottles stood Draco Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond the very same large black cabinet in which Harry had once hidden to avoid Malfoy and his father.

Judging by the movements of Malfoy’s hands, he was talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood facing Malfoy. He was wearing a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.

‘If only we could hear what they’re saying!’ said Hermione.

‘We can!’ said Ron excitedly. ‘Hang on – damn –’

He dropped a couple more of the boxes he was still clutching as he fumbled with the largest.

‘Extendable Ears, look!’

‘Fantastic!’ said Hermione, as Ron unravelled the long, flesh coloured strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door.

They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy’s voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.

‘... you know how to fix it?’

‘Possibly,’ said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. ‘I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?’

‘I can’t,’ said Malfoy. ‘It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.’

Harry saw Borgin lick his lips nervously.

‘Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.’

‘No?’ said Malfoy, and Harry knew, just by his tone, that Malfoy was sneering. ‘Perhaps this will make you more confident.’

He moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. Harry, Ron, and Hermione shuffled sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, looking very frightened.

‘Tell anyone,’ said Malfoy, ‘and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend. He’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.’

‘There will be no need for –’

‘I’ll decide that,’ said Malfoy. ‘Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.’

‘Perhaps you’d like to take it now?’

‘No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.’

‘Of course not... sir.’

Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Harry had once seen him give Lucius Malfoy.

‘Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?’

‘Naturally, naturally,’ murmured Borgin, bowing again.

Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passed so close to Harry, Ron, and Hermione that they felt the cloak flutter around their knees again.

Inside the shop, Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; he looked worried.

‘What was that about?’ whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.

‘Dunno,’ said Harry, thinking hard. ‘He wants something mended… and he wants to reserve something in there.… Could you see what he pointed at when he said ‘that one’?’

‘No, he was behind that cabinet…’

. . .

Harry spent a lot of the last week of the holidays pondering the meaning of Malfoy’s behaviour in Knockturn Alley. What disturbed him most was the satisfied look on Malfoy’s face as he had left the shop. Nothing that made Malfoy look that happy could be good news at this point.

To his slight annoyance, however, neither Ron nor Hermione seemed quite as curious about Malfoy’s activities as he was; or at least, they seemed to get bored of discussing it after a few days.

‘Yes, I’ve already agreed it was fishy, Harry,’ said Hermione a little impatiently. She was sitting on the windowsill in Fred and George’s room with her feet up on one of the cardboard boxes and had only grudgingly looked up from her new copy of Advanced Rune Translation. ‘But haven’t we agreed there could be a lot of explanations?’

‘Maybe he’s broken his Hand of Glory’ said Ron vaguely, as he attempted to straighten his broomstick’s bent tail twigs. ‘Remember that shrivelled-up arm Malfoy had?’

‘But what about when he said, “Don’t forget to keep that one safe”?’ asked Harry for the umpteenth time. ‘That sounded to me like Borgin’s got another one of the broken objects, and Malfoy wants both.’

‘You reckon?’ said Ron, now trying to scrape some dirt off his broom handle.

‘Yeah, I do,’ said Harry.

When neither Ron nor Hermione answered, he said, ‘Malfoy’s father’s in Azkaban. Don’t you think Malfoy’d like revenge?’

Ron looked up, blinking.

‘Malfoy, revenge? What can he do about it?’

‘That’s my point, I don’t know!’ said Harry, frustrated. ‘But he’s up to something and I think we should take it seriously. His father’s a Death Eater and –’

Harry broke off, his eyes fixed on the window behind Hermione, his mouth open. A startling thought had just occurred to him.

‘Harry?’ said Hermione in an anxious voice. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Your scar’s not hurting again, is it?’ asked Ron nervously.

‘He’s a Death Eater,’ said Harry slowly. ‘He’s replaced his father as a Death Eater!’

A chill ran up Harry’s spine.

There was a silence; then Ron erupted in laughter. ‘Malfoy? He’s sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?’

Harry didn’t doubt it for a second. He knew Draco excelled in everything he set his mind to.

‘It seems very unlikely, Harry,’ said Hermione in a repressive sort of voice. ‘What makes you think – ?’

‘In Madam Malkin’s. He yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve, but she didn’t touch him. It was his left arm. He’s been branded with the Dark Mark.’

It frightened Harry to the bone. If Voldemort gave Draco the Dark Mark… Harry couldn’t breathe. If Draco’d truly become a Death Eater...

Harry had failed. He didn’t know at what exactly, but he failed horribly. He was too late.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other.

‘Well...’ said Ron, sounding thoroughly unconvinced.

‘I think he just wanted to get out of there, Harry,’ said Hermione.

‘He showed Borgin something we couldn’t see,’ Harry pressed on. ‘Something that seriously scared Borgin. It was the Mark, I know it – he was showing Borgin who he was dealing with, you saw how seriously Borgin took him!’

Ron and Hermione exchanged another look.

‘I’m not sure, Harry... .’

‘Yeah, I still don’t reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join....’

Annoyed, but absolutely convinced he was right, Harry snatched up a pile of filthy Quidditch robes and left the room. He’d never felt so worried.

. . .

Harry needed the Ministry to know about this. That’s why, on the day they left for Hogwarts, he talked to Mr. Weasley alone.

‘When we were in Diagon Alley,’ Harry began, but Mr. Weasley forestalled him with a grimace. ‘Am I about to discover where you, Ron, and Hermione disappeared to while you were supposed to be in the back room of Fred and George’s shop?’

‘How did you – ?’

‘Harry, please. You’re talking to the man who raised Fred and George.’

‘Er… yeah, all right, we weren’t in the back room.’

‘Very well, then, let’s hear the worst.’

‘Well, we followed Draco Malfoy. We used my Invisibility Cloak.’

‘Did you have any particular reason for doing so, or was it a mere whim?’

‘Because I thought Malfoy was up to something,’ said Harry, disregarding Mr. Weasley’s look of mingled exasperation and amusement. ‘He’d given his mother the slip and I wanted to know why.’

‘Of course you did,’ said Mr. Weasley, sounding sympathetic. ‘Well? Did you find out why?’

‘He went into Borgin and Burkes,’ said Harry, ‘and started bullying the bloke in there, Borgin, to help him fix something. And he said he wanted Borgin to keep something else for him. He made it sound like it was the same kind of thing that needed fixing. Like they were a pair. And...’

Harry took a deep breath.

‘There’s something else. We saw Malfoy jump about a mile when Madam Malkin tried to touch his left arm. I think he’s been branded with the Dark Mark. I think he’s replaced his father as a Death Eater.’

Mr. Weasley looked taken aback. After a moment he said, ‘Harry, I doubt whether You-Know-Who would allow a sixteen-year-old –’

He’s not just any sixteen-year-old, Harry wanted to yell, he’s Draco Malfoy!

‘Does anyone really know what You-Know-Who would or wouldn’t do?’ asked Harry angrily instead. ‘Mr. Weasley, I’m sorry, but isn’t it worth investigating? If Malfoy wants something fixing, and he needs to threaten Borgin to get it done, it’s probably something Dark or dangerous, isn’t it?’

‘I doubt it, to be honest, Harry,’ said Mr. Weasley slowly. ‘You see, when Lucius Malfoy was arrested, we raided his house. We took away everything that might have been dangerous.’

‘I think you missed something,’ said Harry stubbornly.

‘Well, maybe,’ said Mr. Weasley, but Harry could tell that Mr. Weasley was humouring him.

. . .

Harry mulled their conversation over and over during their journey in the Hogwarts Express.

‘Wish the lunch trolley would hurry up, I’m starving,’ Ron interrupted his thoughts, slumping into the seat beside Harry and rubbing his stomach. ‘Guess what?’ he added, turning to Harry. ‘Malfoy’s not doing prefect duty. He’s just sitting in his compartment with the other Slytherins, we saw him when we passed.’

He grinned as Harry sat up straight at once.

It was not like Malfoy to pass up the chance to demonstrate his power as prefect, which he had happily abused all the previous year.

‘What did he do when he saw you?’

‘The usual,’ said Ron, demonstrating a rude hand gesture. ‘Not like him, though, is it? Well – that is’ – he did the hand gesture again – ‘but why isn’t he out there bullying first years?’

‘Dunno,’ said Harry, but his mind was racing. Didn’t this look as though Malfoy had more important things on his mind than bullying younger students?

‘Maybe he preferred the Inquisitorial Squad,’ said Hermione. ‘Maybe being a prefect seems a bit tame after that.’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Harry. Suddenly, he spotted a figure passing their compartment. ‘I’ll see you two later.’ He pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, seized by a sudden brain wave, and flung it over himself.

As quietly as possible, he darted after Blaise Zabini, one of Malfoy’s friends, though the rattling of the train made such caution almost pointless.

Though he was as close as he could get to Zabini without touching him, Harry was not quick enough to slip into the compartment when Zabini opened the door. Zabini was already sliding it shut when Harry hastily stuck out his foot to prevent it closing.

‘What’s wrong with this thing?’ said Zabini angrily as he smashed the sliding door repeatedly into Harry’s foot.

Harry seized the door and pushed it open, hard; Zabini, still clinging onto the handle, toppled over sideways into Gregory Goyle’s lap, and in the ensuing ruckus, Harry darted into the compartment, leapt onto Zabini’s temporarily empty seat, and hoisted himself up into the luggage rack.

It was fortunate that Goyle and Zabini were snarling at each other, drawing all eyes onto them, for Harry was quite sure his feet and ankles had been revealed as the cloak had flapped around them; indeed, for one horrible moment he thought he saw Malfoy’s eyes follow his trainer as it whipped upward out of sight. But then Goyle slammed the door shut and flung Zabini off him; Zabini collapsed into his own seat looking ruffled, Vincent Crabbe returned to his comic, and Malfoy, sniggering, lay back down across two seats with his head in Pansy Parkinson’s lap.

Harry lay curled uncomfortably under the cloak to ensure that every inch of him remained hidden, and watched Pansy stroke the sleek blond hair off Malfoy’s forehead, looking as though anyone would have loved to have been in her place.

Watching the two of them, Harry’s chest tightened painfully. Were Pansy and Malfoy-…? He couldn’t even finish that thought. He had to focus on the mission.

The lanterns swinging from the carriage ceiling cast a bright light over the scene: Harry could read every word of Crabbe’s comic directly below him.

‘So, Zabini,’ said Malfoy, ‘what did Slughorn want?’

‘Just trying to make up to well-connected people,’ said Zabini, who was still glowering at Goyle. ‘Not that he managed to find many.’

This information did not seem to please Malfoy. ‘Who else had he invited?’ he demanded.

‘McLaggen from Gryffindor,’ said Zabini.

‘Oh yeah, his uncle’s big in the Ministry,’ said Malfoy.

Malfoy really knew everything about everything, Harry thought, annoyed.

‘– someone else called Belby, from Ravenclaw –’

‘Not him, he’s a prat!’ said Pansy.

‘– and Longbottom, Potter, and that Weasley girl,’ finished Zabini.

Malfoy sat up very suddenly, knocking Pansy’s hand aside.

‘He invited Longbottom?’

‘Well, I assume so, as Longbottom was there,’ said Zabini indifferently.

‘What’s Longbottom got to interest Slughorn?’

Zabini shrugged.

‘Potter, precious Potter, obviously he wanted a look at "the Chosen One,"’ sneered Malfoy, ‘but that Weasley girl! What’s so special about her?’

‘A lot of boys like her,’ said Pansy, watching Malfoy out of the corner of her eyes for his reaction. ‘Even you think she’s good-looking, don’t you, Blaise, and we all know how hard you are to please!’

‘I wouldn’t touch a filthy little blood traitor like her whatever she looked like,’ said Zabini coldly, and Pansy looked pleased.

Malfoy sank back across her lap and allowed her to resume the stroking of his hair.

‘Well, I pity Slughorn’s taste. Maybe he’s going a bit senile. Shame, my father always said he was a good wizard in his day. My father used to be a bit of a favourite of his. Slughorn probably hasn’t heard I’m on the train, or –’

‘I wouldn’t bank on an invitation,’ said Zabini. ‘He asked me about Notts father when I first arrived. They used to be old friends, apparently, but when he heard he’d been caught at the Ministry he didn’t look happy, and Nott didn’t get an invitation, did he? I don’t think Slughorn’s interested in Death Eaters.’

Malfoy looked angry, but forced out a singularly humourless laugh. ‘Well, who cares what he’s interested in? What is he, when you come down to it? Just some stupid teacher.’ Malfoy yawned ostentatiously. ‘I mean, I might not even be at Hogwarts next year, what’s it matter to me if some fat old has-been likes me or not?’

Harry tensed up even more in his uncomfortable place.

‘What do you mean, you might not be at Hogwarts next year?’ said Pansy indignantly, ceasing grooming Malfoy at once.

‘Well, you never know,’ said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. ‘I might have – er – moved onto bigger and better things.’

Crouched in the luggage rack under his cloak, Harry’s heart began to race. What would Ron and Hermione say about this?

Crabbe and Goyle were gawping at Malfoy; apparently they had had no inkling of any plans to move onto bigger and better things. Even Zabini had allowed a look of curiosity to mar his haughty features. Pansy resumed the slow stroking of Malfoy’s hair, looking dumbfounded.

‘Do you mean –’

Malfoy shrugged.

‘Mother wants me to complete my education, but personally, I don’t see it as that important these days. I mean, think about it.... When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many OWLs or N.E.W.T.S anyone’s got? Of course he isn’t… It’ll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.’

‘And you think you’ll be able to do something for him?’ asked Zabini scathingly. ‘Sixteen years old and not even fully qualified yet?’

‘I’ve just said, haven’t I? Maybe he doesn’t care if I’m qualified. Maybe the job he wants me to do isn’t something that you need to be qualified for,’ said Malfoy quietly.

Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring.

‘I can see Hogwarts,’ said Malfoy, clearly relishing the effect he had created as he pointed out of the blackened window. ‘We’d better get our robes on.’

Harry was so busy staring at Malfoy, he did not notice Goyle reaching up for his trunk; as he swung it down, it hit Harry hard on the side of the head. He let out an involuntary gasp of pain, and Malfoy looked up at the luggage rack, frowning.

Harry was not afraid of Malfoy, but he still did not much like the idea of being discovered hiding under his Invisibility Cloak by a group of unfriendly Slytherins. Eyes still watering and head still throbbing, he drew his wand, careful not to disarrange the cloak, and waited, breath held.

To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others, locked his trunk, and as the train slowed to a jerky crawl, fastened a thick new traveling cloak round his neck.

Harry could see the corridors filling up again and hoped that Hermione and Ron would take his things out onto the platform for him; he was stuck where he was until the compartment had quite emptied. At last, with a final lurch, the train came to a complete halt. Goyle threw the door open and muscled his way out into a crowd of second years, punching them aside; Crabbe and Zabini followed.

‘You go on,’ Malfoy told Pansy, who was waiting for him with her hand held out as though hoping he would hold it – would he? Harry couldn’t help wondering with a hurtful jab in his stomach. ‘I just want to check something.’

Pansy left. Now Harry and Malfoy were alone in the compartment. People were filing past, descending onto the dark platform. Malfoy moved over to the compartment door and let down the blinds, so that people in the corridor beyond could not peer in. He then bent down over his trunk and opened it again.

Harry peered down over the edge of the luggage rack, his heart pumping a little faster. What had Malfoy wanted to hide from Pansy? Was he about to see the mysterious broken object that was so important to mend?

‘Petrificus Totalus!’

Without warning, Malfoy pointed his wand at Harry, who was instantly paralyzed. As though in slow motion, he toppled out of the luggage rack and fell, with an agonizing, floor-shaking crash, at Malfoy’s feet, the Invisibility Cloak trapped beneath him, his whole body revealed with his legs still curled absurdly into the cramped kneeling position. He couldn’t move a muscle; he could only gaze up at Malfoy, who smiled broadly.

‘I thought so,’ he said jubilantly. ‘I heard Goyle’s trunk hit you. And I thought I saw something white flash through the air after Zabini came back...’ His eyes lingered for a moment upon Harry’s trainers.

If Harry could have moved, his chin would have dropped: Draco’d known he was there and still he said all those things? He all but told him about the special mission he got from Voldemort. Why would he do that? And why did he still call him "precious Potter", if it was practically to his face?

‘You didn’t hear anything I care about, Potter.’

Was that true?

'But while I’ve got you here...’

And he stamped, hard, on Harry’s face. A wave of shock went through Harry as he felt his nose break; blood spurted everywhere.

‘That’s from my father.'

His _father_? As if there wasn't anything Harry'd hurt Malfoy with except for landing his father in prison!

'Now, let’s see...’

Malfoy dragged the cloak out from under Harry’s immobilized body and threw it over him.

‘I don’t reckon they’ll find you till the train’s back in London,’ he said quietly. ‘See you around, Potter... or not.’

And taking care to tread on Harry’s fingers, Malfoy left the compartment.

Harry had never hated Malfoy more than as he lay there, like an absurd turtle on its back, blood dripping sickeningly into his open mouth.

What a stupid situation to have landed himself in... and now the last few footsteps were dying away; everyone was shuffling along the dark platform outside; he could hear the scraping of trunks and loud babble of talk.

A feeling of hopelessness spread through him as he imagined the convoy of thestral-drawn carriages trundling up to the school and the muffled yells of laughter issuing from whichever carriage Draco was riding in, where he could be recounting his attack on Harry to Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, and to Pansy Parkinson. Who held his hand…

After what seemed to be ages, he felt his Invisibility Cloak fly off him all of a sudden. It was Tonks, coming to rescue him.

‘Who did it?’ she asked, as they got off the train.

‘Draco Malfoy,’ said Harry bitterly.

He didn’t look at her saying the name. Ever since last year, he’d been getting these awful sympathetic looks from everyone – friends, Weasleys, members of the Order, students, teachers – whenever Draco’s name got mentioned. It seemed that all and sundry knew what he had blurted out on that Quidditch field, and it wasn’t likely they were ever going to forget it. And for some reason they were all under the impression that Harry was still as hung up on the boy as ever. It made it so much more difficult for Harry to pretend he wasn’t.

Tonks fixed Harry’s nose and walked him up to the castle.

As the great oaken front doors swung open into the vast flagged entrance hall, a burst of talk and laughter and of tinkling plates and glasses greeted them through the doors standing open into the Great Hall.

The Gryffindor table was inconveniently the farthest from the entrance. Harry took a breath and marched straight through the open doors.

The Great Hall with its four long House tables and its staff table set at the top of the room, was decorated as usual with floating candles that made the plates below glitter and glow. It was all a shimmering blur to Harry, however, who walked so fast that he was passing the Hufflepuff table before people really started to stare, and by the time they were standing up to get a good look at him, he had spotted Ron and Hermione, sped along the benches toward them, and forced his way in between them.

‘Where’ve you – blimey, what’ve you done to your face?’ said Ron, goggling at him along with everyone else in the vicinity.

‘You’re covered in blood!’ said Hermione. ‘Come here –’

She raised her wand, said ‘Tergeo!’ and siphoned off the dried blood.

‘Thanks,’ said Harry, feeling his now clean face.

‘Harry, what happened? We’ve been terrified!’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Harry curtly. He was very conscious that Ginny, Neville, Dean, and Seamus were listening in. He hoped very much that they would all assume he had been involved in something heroic, preferably involving a couple of Death Eaters and a dementor. Of course, Malfoy would spread the story as wide as he could, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t reach too many Gryffindor ears.

He hastily looked away, his eyes involuntarily drawn toward the Slytherin table. Draco Malfoy was miming the shattering of a nose to raucous laughter and applause.

Harry dropped his gaze to his treacle tart, his insides burning again. What he would give to fight Malfoy one-on-one...

Harry got distracted when Dumbledore started his speech.

‘Now, as everybody in this Hall knows, Lord Voldemort and his followers are once more at large and gaining in strength.’

The silence seemed to tauten and strain as Dumbledore spoke. Harry glanced over his shoulder. Malfoy was not looking at Dumbledore, but making his fork hover in midair with his wand, as though he found the headmaster’s words unworthy of his attention.

Dumbledore’s blue eyes swept over the students. ‘But now, your beds await, as warm and comfortable as you could possibly wish, and I know that your top priority is to be well-rested for your lessons tomorrow. Let us therefore say good night. Pip pip!’

With the usual deafening scraping noise, the benches moved back and the hundreds of students began to file out of the Great Hall toward their dormitories.

Harry, who was in no hurry at all to leave with the gawping crowd, nor to get near enough to Malfoy to allow him to retell the story of the nose-stamping, lagged behind, pretending to retie the lace on his trainer, allowing most of Gryffindors to draw ahead of him.

Hermione had darted ahead to fulfill her prefect’s duty of shepherding the first years, but Ron remained with Harry.

‘What really happened to your nose?’ he asked, once they were at the very back of the throng pressing out of the Hall, and out of earshot of anyone else.

Harry told him. It was a mark of the strength of their friendship that Ron did not laugh. ‘I saw Malfoy miming something to do with a nose,’ he said darkly.

‘Yeah, well, never mind that,’ said Harry bitterly. ‘Listen to what he was saying before he found out I was there…’

Harry had expected Ron to be stunned by Malfoys boasts. With what Harry considered pure pigheadedness, however, Ron was unimpressed.

‘Come on, Harry, he was just showing off for Parkin-… Oh sorry, mate.’

Apparently, Harry had flinched. He hated himself.

‘What kind of mission would You-Know-Who have given him?’ asked Ron.

That’s what Harry would like to know.

. . .

Harry and Ron met Hermione in the common room before breakfast next morning. Hoping for some support in his theory, Harry lost no time in telling Hermione what he had overheard Malfoy saying on the Hogwarts Express.

‘But he was obviously showing off, wasn’t he?’ interjected Ron quickly, before Hermione could say anything.

‘Well,’ she said uncertainly, ‘I don’t know... apparently he knew _Harry_ was there, so it _could_ be... And it would be like Malfoy to make himself seem more important than he is... But that’s a big lie to tell.’

Harry’s heart jolted when he realised what Hermione meant. 'You think he wanted to impress.. _me_?'

'Impress, or...' Hermione bit her lip, thinking. 'Let you know...'

'Let me know? What do you mean?'

Hermione shook her head. 'Well, he knows what you're like.'

What am I like? Harry wanted to ask, feeling a little helpless, but he could not press the point, because so many people were trying to listen into his conversation, not to mention staring at him and whispering behind their hands.

Harry kept thinking about it all during breakfast: “Let you know…”

Draco wanted to _let Harry know_ he got an important task from Voldemort? Whatever would he do that for? It wouldn’t achieve anything. Harry would just try to stop him.

Harry sat bolt upright. That was it, wasn’t it? He would try to stop him; was that why Draco needed Harry to know?

Absentmindedly poking into his breakfast, Harry kept his eyes on the Slytherin table. He remembered from fourth year that, unlike his friends, Malfoy went back to the Slytherin dorms right before lessons to brush his teeth again. The second he saw Malfoy get up, Harry lunged himself from the table with a vague ‘excuse me’ to follow Draco into the Entrance Hall.

The corridors to the Dungeons were practically deserted during breakfast, as Harry had expected them to be. Harry had no trouble following Draco, because Malfoy loved to hear his own sounds echoing around the Dungeon walls. Whenever Harry’d been with him, Draco used to shout, scream or sing loudly, and it had sounded like the castle yelled back. When they’d been alone, Draco sometimes sang shanties in canon with the echoes. It had made Harry feel enchanted every time.

Once or twice, they’d gone deeper and deeper down the dungeons, to the parts where the corridors changed at their own will, and any non-brilliant person would get lost forever. Then, when they got to a dead end, Draco would just scream and scream and make Harry do the same thing. It had felt like it lifted Harry’s soul to feel the intensity of the racket they created reverberated back at them. It felt liberating.

Today, Malfoy was enjoying a modest whistling duet with the castle.

Brutally interrupting, Harry grabbed his arm to whirl him around, and with a last echoing shriek, the whistling cut off. In one swift move, Draco twisted his arm out of Harry’s grasp and stuck his wand under Harry’s chin.

Harry blinked, feeling awestruck; Malfoy made self-defense look like ballet.

‘You!’ Draco spat, pushing the wand deeper into Harry’s skin.

Harry could feel the power of a curse building up inside Draco, but refused to be scared. ‘What’s going on, Malfoy?’

Draco lowered the wand, only to jab it painfully at Harry’s stomach. ‘I’m going to brush my teeth, Potter. Is that interesting to you? You keep following me; I wonder, do we have to change the password soon again?’

‘Shut up, Draco. What have you gotten yourself into?’

Malfoy drilled his steel grey eyes into Harry’s. ‘Tell me, do you enjoy pain? Because that’s the only thing you will get out of this.’ 

‘I don’t mind it,’ Harry said defiantly. ‘Tell me what they’re making you do.’

Something white-hot burnt Harry’s skin where the wand touched him.

‘Oh, wouldn’t that be a time saver,’ breathed Draco, ‘if the enemy just handed you their plans?’

Losing his temper, Harry yanked the wand out of Draco’s hand and flung it away. ‘Why tell me those things, back in the train, if you don’t want me to know?’

‘I didn’t tell _you!’_ Draco wrinkled his nose is disdain. ‘ _Morceau de merde arrogant.’_

By now, Harry knew enough French to know Draco’s favourite insults.

Harry pulled out his wand. ‘Talk to me,’ he ordered. 

Draco seemed to grow inches as he straightened his back and picked up his chin, looking as proud and poised as his parents.

‘When hell freezes over.’

Right then, Harry got slammed into the wall as Draco word- and wandlessly threw an Impedimenta-curse. The Hawthorne wand flew off the floor, back into Malfoy’s hand as he strutted off down the dungeons again, picking up his whistled tune where he left off.

Harry, shaking with frustration, visualized a snake and focused on it with all his might.

‘ _Arrogant piece of shit_ …’

Hisses resounded back and forth against the arched walls, dying away as they followed Malfoy around the corner. 

. . .

This year they had a new Potions teacher. Snape finally got his beloved job as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and a man called Slughorn became their new Potions teacher. Slughorn’s standards were a lot lower than Snape’s had been, so that Harry and Ron were able to get their N.E.W.T. in Potions after all. However, they didn’t buy a book or supplies yet.

‘Ah, yes,’ said Slughorn when Harry told Slughorn. ‘Not to worry, my dear boy, not to worry at all. You can use ingredients from the store cupboard today, and I'm sure we can lend you some scales, and we've got a small stock of old books here, they'll do until you can write to Flourish and Blotts…’

Slughorn strode over to a corner cupboard and, after a moment's foraging, emerged with two very battered-looking copies of Advanced Potion-Making by Libatius Borage, which he gave to Harry and Ron along with two sets of tarnished scales.

Slughorn started the class by taking the roll call, and he paused at Hermione’s name. ‘Granger? Granger? Can you possibly be related to Hector Dagworth-Granger, who founded the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers?’

‘No. I don’t think so, sir. I’m Muggle-born, you see.’

Harry saw Malfoy lean close to Nott and whisper something; both of them sniggered, but Slughorn showed no dismay; on the contrary, he beamed and looked from Hermione to Harry, who was sitting next to her.

‘Oho! “One of my best friends is Muggle-born, and she’s the best in our year!” I’m assuming this is the very friend of whom you spoke, Harry?’

Harry could feel Draco’s eyes on him. ‘Yes, sir,’ he said.

‘Well, well, take twenty well-earned points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger,’ said Slughorn genially.

Malfoy looked rather as he had done the time Hermione had punched him in the face.

‘And now,’ said Slughorn, ‘it is time for us to start work.’

He pointed at a small black cauldron standing on his desk. The potion within was splashing about merrily; it was the colour of molten gold, and large drops were leaping like goldfish above the surface, though not a particle had spilled.

It was called Felix Felicis: liquid luck. ‘It makes you lucky!’

The whole class seemed to sit up a little straighter. Now all Harry could see of Malfoy was the back of his sleek blond head, because he was at last giving Slughorn his full and undivided attention.

‘The person who does best will win little Felix here. Off you go!’

There was a scraping as everyone drew their cauldrons toward them and some loud clunks as people began adding weights to their scales, but nobody spoke. The concentration within the room was almost tangible.

Harry saw Malfoy riffling feverishly through his copy of Advanced Potion-Making. It could not have been clearer that Malfoy really wanted that lucky day.

Harry bent swiftly over the tattered book Slughorn had lent him. To his annoyance he saw that the previous owner had scribbled all over the pages, so that the margins were as black as the printed portions. Bending low to decipher the ingredients (even here, the previous owner had made annotations and crossed things out) Harry hurried off toward the store cupboard to find what he needed. As he dashed back to his cauldron, he saw Malfoy cutting up Valerian roots as fast as he could.

‘Sir, I think you knew my grandfather, Abraxas Malfoy?’ Harry looked up; Slughorn was just passing the Slytherin table.

‘Yes,’ said Slughorn, without looking at Malfoy, ‘I was sorry to hear he had died, although of course it wasn’t unexpected, dragon pox at his age...’

And he walked away. Harry bent back over his cauldron, smirking. He could tell that Malfoy had expected to be treated like Harry or Zabini; perhaps even hoped for some preferential treatment of the type he had learned to expect from Snape. It looked as though Malfoy would have to rely on nothing but talent to win the bottle of Felix Felicis.

With a little help of his new Potions book and the notes in the margins, Harry managed to win the Felix Felicis.

‘How did you do that?’ Ron whispered to Harry as they left the dungeon.

‘Got lucky, I suppose,’ said Harry, because Malfoy was within earshot.

. . .

After dinner they made their way back to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione reached out for a copy of the Evening Prophet, which somebody had left abandoned on a chair.

‘Anything new?’ said Harry.

‘It says Mr. Weasley’s been to visit the Malfoys’ house. “This second search of the Death Eaters residence does not seem to have yielded any results. Arthur Weasley of the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects said that his team had been acting upon a confidential tip-off.”’

‘Yeah, mine!’ said Harry. ‘I told him at King’s Cross about Malfoy and that thing he was trying to get Borgin to fix something! Well, if it’s not at their house, he must have brought whatever it is to Hogwarts with him.’

‘But how can he have done, Harry?’ said Hermione, putting down the newspaper with a surprised look. ‘We were all searched when we arrived, weren’t we?’

‘Were you?’ said Harry, taken aback. ‘I wasn’t!’

‘Oh no, of course you weren’t, I forgot you were late… Well, Filch ran over all of us with Secrecy Sensors when we got into the entrance hall. Any Dark object would have been found, I know for a fact Crabbe had a shrunken head confiscated. So you see, Malfoy can’t have brought in anything dangerous!’

Momentarily stymied, Harry watched Ginny Weasley playing with Arnold the Pygmy Puff for a while before seeing a way around this objection.

‘Someone’s sent it to him by owl, then,’ he said. ‘His mother or someone.’

‘All the owls are being checked too,’ said Hermione. ‘Filch told us so when he was jabbing those Secrecy Sensors everywhere he could reach.’

Really stumped this time, Harry found nothing else to say. There did not seem to be any way Malfoy could have brought a dangerous or Dark object into the school.

He looked hopefully at Ron, who was sitting with his arms folded, staring over at Lavender Brown.

‘Can you think of any way Malfoy – ?’

‘Oh, drop it, Harry,’ said Ron.

Harry thought he knew what was bothering Ron. ‘Listen, it’s not my fault Slughorn invited Hermione and me to his stupid party, neither of us wanted to go, you know!’ said Harry, firing up.

‘Yeah, mate, that’s it. Well, as I’m not invited to any parties,’ said Ron, getting to his feet again, ‘I think I’ll go to bed.’

He stomped off toward the door to the boys’ dormitories, leaving Harry and Hermione staring after him.

. . .

On their way back from a Hogsmeade trip, Harry, Hermione and Ron were walking up the High Street behind Katie and Leanne. The two were having an argument when suddenly Katie rose into the air, gracefully, her arms outstretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet there was something wrong, something eerie… Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.

Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie’s ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed forward to help, but as they grabbed Katie’s legs, she fell ontop of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.

Harry went to get help and found Hagrid, who managed to carry Katie back to the castle, leaving Harry, Ron, Hermione and Leanne behind.

‘It was when that package tore,’ sobbed Leanne, pointing at the now sodden brown-paper package on the ground, which had split open to reveal a greenish glitter. Ron bent down, his hand outstretched, but Harry seized his arm and pulled him back. ‘Don’t touch it!’

He crouched down. An ornate opal necklace was visible, poking out of the paper.

‘I’ve seen that before,’ said Harry, staring at the thing and remembering Draco Malfoy's smirk while reading a label. ‘It was on display in Borgin and Burkes ages ago. The label said it was cursed. Katie must have touched it.’ He looked up at Leanne, who had started to shake uncontrollably. ‘How did Katie get hold of this?’

‘Well, that’s why we were arguing. She came back from the bathroom in the Three Broomsticks holding it, said it was a surprise for somebody at Hogwarts and she had to deliver it. She looked all funny when she said it... Oh no, oh no, I bet she’d been Imperiused and I didn’t realize!’

Leanne let out a wail of despair.

‘We’d better get up to school,’ said Hermione, her arm still around Leanne. ‘We’ll be able to find out how she is. Come on... .’

Harry hesitated for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his face and, ignoring Ron’s gasp, carefully covered the necklace in it and picked it up.

‘We’ll need to show this to Madam Pomfrey,’ he said.

As they followed Hermione and Leanne up the road, Harry was thinking furiously. They had just entered the grounds when he spoke, unable to keep his thoughts to himself any longer.

‘Malfoy knows about this necklace. It was in a case at Borgin and Burkes four years ago, I saw him having a good look at it while I was hiding from him and his dad. This is what he was buying that day when we followed him! He remembered it and he went back for it!’

‘I – I dunno, Harry,’ said Ron hesitantly. ‘Loads of people go to Borgin and Burkes… and didn’t that girl say Katie got it in the girls’ bathroom?’

‘She said she came back from the bathroom with it, she didn’t necessarily get it in the bathroom itself.’

Back at the castle, Harry, Ron and Hermione went and showed the necklace to Professor McGonagall.

‘I think Draco Malfoy gave Katie the necklace, Professor.’

On one side of him, Ron rubbed his nose in apparent embarrassment; on the other, Hermione shuffled her feet as though quite keen to put a bit of distance between herself and Harry.

‘That is a very serious accusation, Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall, after a shocked pause. ‘Do you have any proof?’

‘No,’ said Harry, ‘but…’ and he told her about following Malfoy to Borgin and Burkes and the conversation they had overheard between him and Mr. Borgin.

When he had finished speaking, Professor McGonagall looked slightly confused.

‘Malfoy took something to Borgin and Burkes for repair?’

‘No, Professor, he just wanted Borgin to tell him how to mend something, he didn’t have it with him. But that’s not the point, the thing is that he bought something at the same time, and I think it was that necklace –’

‘You saw Malfoy leaving the shop with a similar package?’

‘No, Professor, he told Borgin to keep it in the shop for him –’

‘But Harry,’ Hermione interrupted, ‘Borgin asked him if he wanted to take it with him, and Malfoy said no –’

‘Because he didn’t want to touch it, obviously!’ said Harry angrily.

‘What he actually said was, “How would I look carrying that down the street?”’ said Hermione.

‘Well, he would look a bit of a prat carrying a necklace,’ interjected Ron.

‘Oh, Ron,’ said Hermione despairingly, ‘it would be all wrapped up, so he wouldn’t have to touch it, and quite easy to hide inside a cloak, so nobody would see it – and in any case,’ she pressed on loudly, before Harry could interrupt, ‘I asked Borgin about the necklace, don’t you remember – ’

‘Well, you were being really obvious – ’

‘That’s enough!’ said Professor McGonagall, as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, looking furious.

‘Potter, I appreciate you telling me this, but we cannot point the finger of blame at Mr. Malfoy purely because he visited the shop where this necklace might have been purchased. The same is probably true of hundreds of people –’

‘– that’s what I said –’ muttered Ron.

‘– and in any case, we have put stringent security measures in place this year. I do not believe that necklace can possibly have entered this school without our knowledge –’

‘But –’

‘– and what is more,’ said Professor McGonagall, with an air of awful finality, ‘Mr. Malfoy was not in Hogsmeade today.’

Harry gaped at her, deflating. ‘How do you know, Professor?’

‘Because he was doing detention with me. He has now failed to complete his Transfiguration homework twice in a row.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’ Harry blurted out. It cost him a very stern look from Professor McGonagall.

Harry almost didn’t believe her. Draco used to laugh whenever Harry hadn’t finished his homework, boasting about how he could do it in his _sleep_. He’d sometimes done Harry’s homework with his left hand, to keep him from getting bored and practice his ambidexterity, claiming it made his handwriting look like Harry’s. And now he failed to do his homework twice for the same class? Draco would call that ‘undeniably foolish’.

‘So, thank you for telling me your suspicions, Potter,’ Professor McGonagall said as she marched past them, ‘but I need to go up to the hospital wing now to check on Katie Bell. Good day to you all.’

She held open her office door. They had no choice but to file past her without another word.

Harry was angry with the other two for siding with McGonagall. All evidence pointed to it: Draco Malfoy was up to something. And Harry got increasingly worried about him.

‘I wonder why Malfoy told Katie to take it into the castle,’ asked Harry, as they climbed the stairs to the common room.

‘Harry, Malfoy wasn’t in Hogsmeade!’ said Hermione, actually stamping her foot in frustration.

‘He must have used an accomplice, then,’ said Harry. ‘Crabbe or Goyle – or, come to think of it, another Death Eater, he’ll have loads better cronies than Crabbe and Goyle now he’s joined up –’

Ron and Hermione exchanged looks that plainly said ‘There’s no point arguing with him’.

Katie was removed to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries the following day, by which time the news that she had been cursed had spread all over the school, though the details were confused and nobody other than Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne seemed to know that Katie herself had not been the intended target.

‘Oh, and Malfoy knows, of course,’ said Harry to Ron and Hermione, who continued their new policy of feigning deafness whenever Harry mentioned his Malfoy-Is-a-Death-Eater theory.

It didn’t stop Harry from discussing the subject. If Ron and Hermione wouldn’t listen, if Mr. Weasley doubted him and if even Professor McGonagall wouldn’t believe him, he had no choice but to take it up even higher: Harry brought it up during one of his meetings with Professor Dumbledore.

‘Professor,’ said Harry, ‘did Professor McGonagall tell you what I told her after Katie got hurt? About Draco Malfoy?’

‘She told me of your suspicions, yes,’ said Dumbledore.

‘And do you – ?’

‘I shall take all appropriate measures to investigate anyone who might have had a hand in Katie’s accident,’ said Dumbledore. ‘But what concerns me now, Harry, is our lesson.’

Harry felt slightly resentful at this. However, he said no more about Draco Malfoy.

. . .

When Katie Bell got injured, Harry had been assigned as the new Quidditch Captain. Their weekly training sessions were one of the few bright spots left in Harry’s life – and their first match was coming up: Gryffindor against Slytherin - Malfoy’s team.

In the changing rooms before the match, the team were discussing the conditions. Ginny thought they were ideal, for all sorts of reasons, and Harry got lost in thought. He remembered every single time he beat Malfoy to catching the snitch. Draco Malfoy was the best Seeker of the other three houses, which made him the most fun to play against. Harry couldn’t wait to mount his broom.

‘And even better than that – Malfoy’s gone off sick too!’ said Ginny suddenly.

‘What?’ said Harry, wheeling around to stare at her. ‘He’s ill? What’s wrong with him?’

‘No idea, but it’s great for us,’ said Ginny brightly. ‘They’re playing Harper instead; he’s in my year and he’s an idiot.’

Malfoy had once before claimed he could not play due to injury, but on that occasion he had made sure the whole match was rescheduled for a time that suited the Slytherins better. Why was he now happy to let a substitute go on? Was he really ill, or was he faking?

‘Fishy, isn’t it?’ he said in an undertone to Ron. ‘Malfoy not playing?’

‘Lucky, I call it,’ said Ron.

The entire match past Harry in a bit of a blur. He kept his eyes peeled for the snitch, but couldn’t stop thinking about Malfoy. What was he doing right now? What was that boy up to now that everyone in the castle was here, watching the game?

Or was he really ill? Could he–…?

‘And I think Harper of Slytherin’s seen the Snitch!’ said Zacharias Smith through his megaphone. ‘Yes, he’s certainly seen something Potter hasn’t!’

Harry’s stomach seemed to drop out of the sky – Smith was right: Harper had spotted what Harry had not. The Snitch was speeding along high above them, glinting brightly against the clear blue sky.

Harry accelerated; the wind was whistling in his ears so that it drowned all sound of Smith’s commentary or the crowd, but Harper was still ahead of him, and Gryffindor was only a hundred points up.

‘Oi, Harper!’ yelled Harry in desperation. ‘How much did Malfoy pay you to come on instead of him?’

He did not know what made him say it, but Harper did a double-take; he fumbled the Snitch, let it slip through his fingers, and shot right past it.

Harry made a great swipe for the tiny, fluttering ball and caught it.

All in all, it wasn’t his best match.

. . .

Harry and Hermione were in the library. Hermione interrupted her ferocious attempts to deny her jealousy about Ron and Lavender becoming an item, to warn Harry.

‘I went into the girl’s bathroom just before I came in here and there were about a dozen girls in there, including that Romilda Vane, trying to decide how to slip you a love potion. They’re all hoping they’re going to get you to take them to Slughorn’s party, and they all seem to have bought Fred and George’s love potions, which I’m afraid to say probably work – ’

That’s right, Harry was supposed to invite someone to another one of Slughorn’s stupid parties.

‘There isn’t anyone I want to invite,’ mumbled Harry miserably, who was still trying not to think about Draco any more than he could help, despite the fact that he kept cropping up in his dreams in ways that made him devoutly thankful that no one in his dorm could perform Legilimency.

‘Oh, Harry…’ Hermione shot him a sympathetic look. ‘You need to move on at some point. You know… _he_ is.’

Frantically, Harry searched for a change of subject. He was not ready at all to discuss Draco Malfoy’s love life.

‘Hang on a moment,’ he said. ‘I thought Filch had banned anything bought at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. I thought all the owls were being searched. So how come these girls are able to bring love potions into the school?’

‘Fred and George send them disguised as perfumes and cough potions,’ said Hermione. ‘It’s part of their Owl order service.’

‘The point is, Filch is being fooled isn’t he? These girls are getting stuff into the school disguised as something else! So why couldn’t Malfoy have brought the necklace into the school – ?’

‘Oh, Harry... not that again...’

‘Come on, why not?’ demanded Harry. ‘Draco’s brilliant enough to–…’

‘Yes, Harry, we all know you think Draco is brilliant enough for anything,’ sighed Hermione.

‘Don’t you underestimate him!’ Harry hissed. ‘I _know_ –’

‘Look, Secrecy Sensors detect jinxes, curses, and concealment charms. They’re used to find dark magic and dark objects. They’d have picked up a powerful curse, like the one in the necklace, within seconds. But something that’s just been put in the wrong bottle wouldn’t register. Love potions aren’t dark or dangerous.’

Harry sulked. No one in the entire wizarding world seemed to believe Draco was capable of astonishing things. If Harry couldn’t prove them wrong, Draco would do it himself. And Harry was certain that Draco Malfoy was meddling with things darker than anyone wanted to experience.

. . .

The party Harry was supposed to invite someone to was Slughorn’s Christmas party. At the last minute, Harry had invited Luna Lovegood, who’d become one of the few friends he managed to feel at ease with. She never gave him sympathetic looks or tried to shut him up.

The party got brutally interrupted when Draco Malfoy was dragged by the ear toward them by Argus Filch.

‘Professor Slughorn,’ wheezed Filch, his jowls aquiver and the maniacal light of mischief-detection in his bulging eyes, ‘I discovered this boy lurking in an upstairs corridor. He claims to have been invited to your party and to have been delayed in setting out. Did you issue him with an invitation?’

Malfoy pulled himself free of Filch’s grip, looking furious. ‘All right, I wasn’t invited!’ he said angrily. ‘I was trying to gate crash, happy?’

‘No, I’m not!’ said Filch, a statement at complete odds with the glee on his face. ‘You’re in trouble, you are! Didn’t the headmaster say that nighttime prowling’s out, unless you’ve got permission, didn’t he, eh?’

‘That’s all right, Argus, that’s all right,’ said Slughorn. ‘It’s Christmas, and it’s not a crime to want to come to a party. Just this once, we’ll forget any punishment; you may stay, Draco.’

Filch’s expression of outraged disappointment was perfectly predictable; but why, Harry wondered, watching him, did Malfoy look almost equally unhappy? And why was Snape looking at Malfoy as though both angry and… was it possible?... a little afraid?

Almost before Harry had registered what he had seen, Filch had turned and shuffled away, muttering under his breath; Snape’s face was smoothly inscrutable again; and Malfoy had composed his face into a smile that stopped Harry’s breath, and thanking Slughorn for his generosity.

‘It’s nothing, nothing,’ said Slughorn, waving away Malfoy’s thanks. ‘I did know your grandfather, after all...’

‘He always spoke very highly of you, sir,’ said Malfoy quickly. ‘Said you were the best potion-maker he’d ever known...’

Harry stared at Malfoy, but not for the usual reasons. It wasn’t the sucking-up either that intrigued him, he had watched Malfoy do that to Snape for a long time. It was the fact that Malfoy looked a little ill. This was the first time he had seen Draco close up for ages; he now saw that he had dark shadows under his eyes and a distinctly grayish tinge to his skin.

Suddenly Draco caught Harry staring at him.

'What?' he hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

Harry took a step closer to him. 'A-are you alright?' he said softly.

Draco furiously glared at him. Harry could almost hear the air crackle with the anger Draco radiated. Quickly, Harry backed off.

He felt sick with regret for his stupid, impulsive question. If only he had a pinch of selfcontrol, just a drop, even once - it would improve his life one hundred percent.

‘I’d like a word with you, Draco,’ said Snape suddenly.

‘Now, Severus,’ said Slughorn, hiccupping again, ‘it’s Christmas, don’t be too hard –’

‘I am his Head of House, and I shall decide how hard, or otherwise, to be,’ said Snape curtly. ‘Follow me, Draco.’

They left, Snape leading the way, Malfoy looking resentful.

Harry stood there for a moment, irresolute, then he went after them.

It was easy, once out of the party, to pull his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throw it over himself, for the corridor was quite deserted. What was more difficult was finding Snape and Malfoy.

Harry ran down the corridor, the noise of his feet masked by the music and loud talk still issuing from Slughorn’s office behind him.

Perhaps Snape had taken Malfoy to his office in the dungeons... or perhaps he was escorting him back to the Slytherin common room… Harry pressed his ear against door after door as he dashed down the corridor until, with a great jolt of excitement, he crouched down to the keyhole of the last classroom in the corridor and heard voices.

‘… cannot afford mistakes, Draco, because if you are expelled –’

‘I didn’t have anything to do with it, all right?’

‘I hope you are telling the truth, because it was both clumsy and foolish. Already you are suspected of having a hand in it.’

‘Who suspects me? And Crimson doesn't count,’ said Malfoy angrily. ‘For the last time: I didn’t do it, okay? That Bell girl must’ve had an enemy no one knows about – don’t look at me like that! I know what you’re doing, I’m not stupid, but it won’t work – I can stop you!’

There was a pause and then Snape said quietly, ‘Ah… Aunt Bellatrix has been teaching you Occlumency, I see.’

Harry wanted to shout in frustration: Draco knew how to do Occlumency! Harry had been practicing at school for a _year_ and still sucked at it, but Draco learned how to properly do it over summer, probably just to keep himself from being bored during breakfast, or something like that. He was infuriatingly clever.

‘What thoughts are you trying to conceal from your master, Draco?’

‘I’m not trying to conceal anything from him, I just don’t want you butting in!’

Harry pressed his ear still more closely against the keyhole… What had happened to make Malfoy speak to Snape like this – Snape, toward whom he had always shown respect, even liking?

‘So that is why you have been avoiding me this term? You have feared my interference? You realize that, had anybody else failed to come to my office when I had told them repeatedly to be there, Draco –’

‘So put me in detention! Report me to Dumbledore!’ jeered Malfoy.

There was another pause. Then Snape said, ‘You know perfectly well that I do not wish to do either of those things.’

‘You’d better stop telling me to come to your office then!’

‘Listen to me,’ said Snape, his voice so low now that Harry had to push his ear very hard against the keyhole to hear. ‘I am trying to help you. I swore to your mother I would protect you.'

Protect him? What did Snape have to protect him from? 

'I made the Unbreakable Vow, Draco –’

‘Looks like you’ll have to break it, then, because I don’t need your protection! It’s my job, he gave it to me and I’m doing it, I’ve got a plan and it’s going to work, it’s just taking a bit longer than I thought it would!’

Harry’s heart started beating as if his life was in danger. What job did Draco get? Who gave it to him? And _why_ did he need _protection_?

Harry's fear almost distracted him from listening. Almost.

‘What is your plan?’ asked Snape.

‘It’s none of your business!’

‘If you tell me what you are trying to do, I can assist you...’

‘I have all the assistance I need, thanks, I’m not alone!’

‘You were certainly alone tonight, which was foolish in the extreme, wandering the corridors without lookouts or backup, these are elementary mistakes –’

‘I would’ve had Crabbe and Goyle with me if you hadn’t put them in detention!’

‘Keep your voice down!’ spat Snape, for Malfoy’s voice had risen excitedly. ‘If your friends Crabbe and Goyle intend to pass their Defense Against the Dark Arts OWL this time around, they will need to work a little harder than they are doing at pres –’

‘What does it matter?’ said Malfoy. ‘Defense Against the Dark Arts – it’s all just a joke, isn’t it, an act? Like any of us need protecting against the Dark Arts –’

‘It is an act that is crucial to success, Draco!’ said Snape. ‘Where do you think I would have been all these years, if I had not known how to act? Now listen to me! You are being incautious, wandering around at night, getting yourself caught, and if you are placing your reliance in assistants like Crabbe and Goyle –’

‘They’re not the only ones, I’ve got other people on my side, better people!’

‘Then why not confide in me, and I can –’

‘I know what you’re up to! You want to steal my glory!’

There was another pause, then Snape said coldly, ‘You are speaking like a child. I quite understand that your fathers capture and imprisonment has upset you, but –’

Harry had barely a second’s warning; he heard Malfoy’s footsteps on the other side of the door and flung himself out of the way just as it burst open.

Malfoy was striding away down the corridor, past the open door of Slughorn’s office, around the distant corner, and out of sight.

Hardly daring to breathe, Harry remained crouched down as Snape emerged slowly from the classroom. His expression unfathomable, he returned to the party.

Harry remained on the floor, hidden beneath the cloak, his mind racing.

. . .

‘Yes, Snape was offering to help him!’ said Harry.

Him and Ron were standing alone at the Burrow’s kitchen sink, peeling a mountain of sprouts for Mrs. Weasley. Snow was drifting past the window in front of them.

‘He said he’d promised Malfoy’s mother to protect him, that he’d made an Unbreakable Oath or something –’

‘An Unbreakable Vow?’ said Ron, looking stunned. ‘Nah, he can’t have… Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure,’ said Harry. ‘Why, what does it mean?’

‘Well, you can’t break an Unbreakable Vow...’

‘I’d worked that much out for myself, funnily enough. What happens if you break it, then?’

‘You die,’ said Ron simply. He peeled a few more sprouts and then said, ‘Are you going to tell Dumbledore what you heard Snape and Malfoy saying to each other?’

‘Yep,’ said Harry. ‘I’m going to tell anyone who can put a stop to it, and Dumbledore’s top of the list. I might have another word with your dad too.’

‘Pity you didn’t hear what Malfoy’s actually doing, though.’

‘I couldn’t have done, could I? That was the whole point, he was refusing to tell Snape.’

There was silence for a moment or two, then Ron said, ‘‘Course, you know what they’ll all say? Dad and Dumbledore and all of them? They’ll say Snape isn’t really trying to help Malfoy, he was just trying to find out what Malfoy’s up to.’

‘They didn’t hear him,’ said Harry flatly. ‘No one’s that good an actor, not even Snape.’

‘Yeah… I’m just saying, though,’ said Ron.

Harry turned to face him, frowning. ‘You think I’m right, though?’

‘Yeah, I do!’ said Ron hastily. ‘Seriously, I do! But they’re all convinced Snape’s in the Order, aren’t they?’

Harry said nothing. It had already occurred to him that this would be the most likely objection to his new evidence; he could hear Hermione now: Obviously, Harry, he was pretending to offer help so he could trick Malfoy into telling him what he’s doing...

Still, even Hermione would not be able to deny one thing: Malfoy was definitely up to something, and Snape knew it, so Harry felt fully justified in saying ‘I told you so.’ Which he had done several times to Ron already.

. . .

Back at school after Christmas, all sixth year students got Apparition-lessons, all of them at once, in the Great Hall.

‘Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!’ barked Professor McGonagall while a Ministry-Apparition Instructor yammered on about the correct procedures.

Everybody looked round. Malfoy had flushed a dull pink; he looked furious as he stepped away from Crabbe, with whom he appeared to have been having a whispered argument.

‘I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you,’ said the instructor.

There was a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banged into each other, and ordered others out of their space. The Heads of House moved among the students, marshalling them into position and breaking up arguments.

‘Harry, where are you going?’ demanded Hermione.

But Harry did not answer; he was moving quickly through the crowd, past the place where Professor Flitwick was making squeaky attempts to position a few Ravenclaws, all of whom wanted to be near the front; past Professor Sprout, who was chivvying the Hufflepuffs into line, until, by dodging around Ernie Macmillan, he managed to position himself right at the back of the crowd, directly behind Malfoy, who was taking advantage of the general upheaval to continue his argument with Crabbe, standing five feet away and looking mutinous.

‘I don’t know how much longer, all right?’ Malfoy shot at him, oblivious to Harry standing right behind him. ‘It’s taking longer than I thought it would.’

Crabbe opened his mouth, but Malfoy appeared to second-guess what he was going to say.

‘Look, it’s none of your business what I’m doing, Crabbe, you and Goyle just do as you’re told and keep a lookout!’

‘I tell my friends what I’m up to, if I want them to keep a lookout for me,’ Harry couldn’t help himself from butting in, just loud enough for Malfoy to hear him.

Malfoy spun round on the spot, his hand flying to his wand, but at that precise moment the four Heads of House shouted, ‘Quiet!’ and silence fell again. Malfoy turned slowly to face the front.

As they were practicing Apparating that afternoon, Harry couldn’t stop puzzling over what Malfoy was doing that needed lookouts. He cursed himself for interrupting the argument. Who knew what else Malfoy was going to say? Why did he find it necessary to butt in, just to make Malfoy look at him for a second? Harry felt infinitely weak.

At the end of the lesson Ron hurried towards Harry to discuss his attempts to Apparate.

‘I don’t care about that now-’

‘What d’you mean, you don’t care? Don’t you want to learn to Apparate?’ said Ron incredulously.

‘I’m not fussed, really. I prefer flying,’ said Harry, glancing over his shoulder to see where Malfoy was, and speeding up as they came into the Entrance Hall. ‘Look, hurry up, will you, there’s something I want to do...’

They hurried to the Gryffindor tower and into their dorms.

‘Are you going to tell me what we’re doing, then?’ asked Ron, panting slightly.

‘Malfoy’s using Crabbe and Goyle as lookouts. He was arguing with Crabbe just now. I want to know... aha.’

He got the Marauder’s Map from his trunk. Here was a detailed plan of every one of the castle’s floors and, moving around it, the tiny, labelled black dots that signified each of the castle’s occupants.

‘Help me find Malfoy,’ said Harry urgently.

He laid the map upon his bed and he and Ron leaned over it, searching.

‘There!’ said Ron, after a minute or so. ‘He’s in the Slytherin common room, look... with Parkinson and Zabini and Crabbe and Goyle...’

Harry looked down at the map, disappointed, but rallied almost at once.

‘Well, I’m keeping an eye on him from now on,’ he said firmly. 'The moment I see him lurking somewhere with Crabbe and Goyle keeping watch outside, it’ll be on with the old Invisibility Cloak and off to find out–…’

‘Oh Harry,’ said Ron, shooting him a sympathetic look.

‘Not you too now, Ron!’

‘He’s not right for you,’ mumbled Ron, looking highly uncomfortable.

‘He is– I mean, I know. I mean…’ Harry let out a frustrated groan. ‘I swear, this has nothing to do–... Mate, I’m right about Malfoy and we both know it!’

Harry was shouting now. Ron put up his hands in surrender, looking quite tired.

Despite his determination, Harry had no luck at all over the next couple of weeks. Although he consulted the map as often as he could, sometimes making unnecessary visits to the bathroom between lessons to search it, he did not once see Malfoy anywhere suspicious.

Admittedly, he spotted Crabbe and Goyle moving around the castle on their own more often than usual, sometimes remaining stationary in deserted corridors, but at these times Malfoy was not only nowhere near them, but impossible to locate on the map at all.

This was most mysterious. Harry toyed with the possibility that Malfoy was actually leaving the school grounds, but could not see how he could be doing it, given the very high level of security now operating within the castle. He could only suppose that he was missing Malfoy amongst the hundreds of tiny black dots upon the map.

‘Right,’ he murmured, taking the Map back to bed with him on the morning of Ron’s birthday, tapping it quietly and murmuring, ‘I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,’ so that Neville, who was passing the foot of his bed at the time, would not hear.

‘Nice one, Harry!’ said Ron enthusiastically, waving the new pair of Quidditch Keeper’s gloves Harry had given him.

‘No problem,’ said Harry absent-mindedly, as he searched the Slytherin dormitory closely for Malfoy. ‘Hey... I don’t think he’s in his bed...’

Ron did not answer; he was too busy unwrapping presents, every now and then letting out an exclamation of pleasure.

‘Seriously good haul this year!’ he announced, holding up a heavy gold watch with odd symbols around the edge and tiny moving stars instead of hands. ‘See what Mum and Dad got me? Blimey, I think I’ll come of age next year too...

‘Cool,’ muttered Harry, sparing the watch a glance before peering more closely at the map.

Where was Malfoy? He did not seem to be at the Slytherin table in the Great Hall, eating breakfast... he was nowhere near Snape, who was sitting in his study... he wasn’t in any of the bathrooms or in the hospital wing...

‘Want one?’ said Ron thickly, holding out a box of Chocolate Cauldrons.

‘No thanks,’ said Harry, looking up. ‘Malfoy’s gone again!’

‘Can’t have done,’ said Ron, stuffing a Cauldron into Harry’s mouth anyway. ‘Hermione said you need to eat more. Come on, if you don’t hurry up you’ll have to Apparate on an empty-stomach... might make it easier, I suppose...’

Ron looked thoughtfully at the box of Chocolate Cauldrons, then shrugged and helped himself to a second.

Harry tapped the map with his wand, chewing aggressively on the chocolate, and muttered, ‘Mischief managed,’ though it hadn’t been. He got dressed, thinking hard. There had to be an explanation for Malfoy’s periodic disappearances, but he simply could not think what it could be. The best way of finding out would be to tail him, but even with the Invisibility Cloak this was an impractical idea; he had lessons, Quidditch practice, homework and Apparition; he could not follow Malfoy around school all day without his absence being remarked upon.

. . .

The next Quidditch match was coming up: Gryffindor against Hufflepuff. Harry, however, had never been less interested in Quidditch; he was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy. Still checking the Marauder’s Map whenever he got a chance, he sometimes made detours to wherever Malfoy happened to be, but had not yet detected him doing anything out of the ordinary. And still there were those inexplicable times when Malfoy simply vanished from the map... Where did he go? How did he manage it?

Harry, shouldering his broom, hurried down the deserted corridors; the whole school was outside, either already seated in the stadium or heading down toward it. He was looking out of the windows he passed, trying to gauge how much wind they were facing, when a noise ahead made him glance up and he saw Malfoy walking toward him, accompanied by two girls, both of whom looked sulky and resentful.

Malfoy stopped short at the sight of Harry. A soft look appeared on his face as he glanced at Harry from head to toe; it made Harry lose his balance for a second.

Then Malfoy gave a short, humourless laugh and continued walking.

‘Where’re you going?’ Harry demanded.

‘Yeah, I’m really going to tell you, because it’s your business, Potter,’ sneered Malfoy. ‘You’d better hurry up, they’ll be waiting for ‘the Chosen Captain’ – ‘the Boy Who Scored’ – whatever they call you these days.’

Harry smiled and immediately slapped himself in the face. ‘I hate you,’ he reminded everyone present.

Malfoy pushed past Harry and the girls followed at a trot, turning the corner and vanishing from view.

Harry stood rooted on the spot and watched them disappear. This was infuriating; he was already cutting it fine to get to the match on time and yet there was Malfoy, skulking off while the rest of the school was absent: Harry’s best chance yet of discovering what Malfoy was up to. The silent seconds trickled past, and Harry remained where he was, frozen, gazing at the place where Malfoy had vanished...

‘Where have you been?’ demanded Ginny, as Harry sprinted into the changing rooms. The whole team was changed and ready; Coote and Peakes, the Beaters, were both hitting their clubs nervously against their legs.

‘I met Malfoy.’

‘Oh, Harry!’ shouted Ginny. Thankfully, she didn’t look sympathetic at all.

‘I wanted to know how come he’s up at the castle with a couple of girlfriends while everyone else is down here...’ Harry told her quietly.

‘Does it matter right now?’

‘Well, I’m not likely to find out, am I?’ said Harry, pushing his glasses straight. ‘Come on then!’

And without another word, he marched out onto the pitch to deafening cheers and boos.

If he could catch the snitch good and early, there might be a chance he could get back up to the castle, seize the Marauder’s Map, and find out what Malfoy was doing...

. . .

‘I saw Malfoy sneaking off with a couple of girls who didn’t look like they wanted to be with him,’ Harry told Ron after the match was over at long last. ‘And that’s the second time he’s made sure he isn’t down on the Quidditch pitch with the rest of the school; he skipped the last match too, remember? Wish I’d followed him now, the match was such a fiasco...’

‘Oh Harry, don’t be stupid,’ said Ron sharply. ‘You couldn’t have missed a Quidditch match just to follow Malfoy, you’re the Captain!’

‘I want to know what he’s up to,’ said Harry. ‘And don’t tell me it’s all in my head, not after what I overheard between him and Snape –’

‘I never said it was all in your head,’ said Ron, hoisting himself up on an elbow in turn and frowning at Harry, ‘but there’s no rule saying only one person at a time can be plotting anything in this place! You’re getting a bit obsessed with Malfoy, Harry. I mean, thinking about missing a match just to follow him… You know, you could–…’ He took a breath. ‘Why don’t you _talk_ to him if–…’

‘I want to catch him at what he’s doing!’ said Harry in frustration. ‘I mean, where’s he going when he disappears off the map?’

‘I dunno… Hogsmeade?’ suggested Ron, yawning.

‘I’ve never seen him going along any of the secret passageway on the map. I thought they were being watched now anyway?’

‘Well then, I dunno,’ said Ron.

Silence fell between them. Harry stared up at the circle of lamp light above him, thinking…

If only he had Rufus Scrimgeour’s power, he would have been able to set a tail upon Malfoy, but unfortunately Harry did not have an office full of Aurors at his command… He thought fleetingly of trying to set something up with the D.A., but there again was the problem that people would be missed from lessons; most of them, after all, still had full schedules...

Harry sat bolt upright, his heart pounding. He had the solution at last: There was a way to have Malfoy followed – how could he have forgotten, why hadn’t he thought of it before? He called in the aid of the house-elves!

Dobby and Kreacher appeared with a CRACK in the Hospital wing, and Harry quickly told them of his plan.

‘Master wants me to follow the youngest of the Malfoys?’ croaked Kreacher. ‘Master wants me to spy upon the pure-blood great-nephew of my old mistress?’

‘That’s the one,’ said Harry, foreseeing a great danger and determining to prevent it immediately. ‘And you’re forbidden to tip him off, Kreacher, or to show him what you’re up to, or to talk to him at all, or to write him messages or... or to contact him in any way. Got it?’

He thought he could see Kreacher struggling to see a loophole in the instructions he had just been given and waited. After a moment or two, and to Harrys great satisfaction, Kreacher bowed deeply again and said, with bitter resentment, ‘Master thinks of everything, and Kreacher must obey him even though Kreacher would much rather be the servant of the Malfoy boy, oh yes…’

To his fury, Harry caught himself agreeing. ‘That’s settled, then,’ he said quickly, trying to drown out his own wild imagination. ‘I’ll want regular reports, but make sure I’m not surrounded by people when you turn up. Ron and Hermione are okay. And don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. Just stick to Malfoy like a couple of wart plasters.’

And that, the house elves did. Harry received their first report when he, Ron and Hermione were in the common room one late night.

Crack!

Hermione let out a little shriek; Ron spilled ink all over his freshly completed essay, and Harry said, ‘Kreacher!’

The house-elf bowed low and addressed his own gnarled toes. ‘Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give – ’

Crack!

Dobby appeared alongside Kreacher, his tea-cozy hat askew. ‘Dobby has been helping too, Harry Potter!’ he squeaked, casting Kreacher a resentful look. ‘And Kreacher ought to tell Dobby when he is coming to see Harry Potter so they can make their reports together!’

‘Has either of you found out anything?’ he asked.

‘Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pure blood,’ croaked Kreacher at once. ‘His features recall the fine bones of my mistress and his manners are those of–’

‘Yes, we know,’ interrupted Harry.

‘Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!’ squeaked Dobby angrily. ‘A bad boy who – who –’ He shuddered from the tassel of his tea cozy to the toes of his socks and then ran at the fire, as though about to dive into it. Harry, to whom this was not entirely unexpected, caught him around the middle and held him fast. For a few seconds Dobby struggled, then went limp.

‘Thank you, Harry Potter,’ he panted. ‘Dobby still finds it difficult to speak ill of his old masters.’ Harry released him; Dobby straightened his tea cozy and said defiantly to Kreacher, ‘But Kreacher should know that the Malfoy family is not a good master to a house-elf!’

‘Yeah, we don’t need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy,’ Harry told Kreacher.

Ron snorted in a way that Harry could not appreciate right now.

‘Let’s fast forward to where he’s actually been going. Has he been going anywhere he shouldn’t have?’

‘Harry Potter, sir,’ squeaked Dobby, his great orblike eyes shining in the firelight, ‘the Malfoy boy is breaking no rules that Dobby can discover, but he is still keen to avoid detection. He has been making regular visits to the seventh floor with a variety of other students, who keep watch for him while he enters –’

‘The Room of Requirement!’ said Harry, smacking himself hard on the forehead with Advanced Potion-Making. Hermione and Ron stared at him. ‘That’s where he’s been sneaking off to! That’s where he’s doing… whatever he’s doing! And I bet that’s why he’s been disappearing off the map – come to think of it, I’ve never seen the Room of Requirement on there!’

‘Maybe the Marauders never knew the room was there,’ said Ron.

‘I think it’ll be part of the magic of the room,’ said Hermione. ‘If you need it to be unplottable, it will be.’

‘Dobby, have you managed to get into have a look at what Malfoy’s doing?’ said Harry eagerly.

‘No, Harry Potter, that is impossible,’ said Dobby.

‘No, it’s not,’ said Harry at once. ‘Malfoy got into our headquarters there last year, so I’ll be able to get in and spy on him, no problem.’

‘But I don’t think you will, Harry,’ said Hermione slowly. ‘Malfoy already knew exactly how we were using the room, didn’t he, because that stupid Marietta had blabbed. He needed the room to become the headquarters of the D.A., so it did. But you don’t know what the room becomes when Malfoy goes in there, so you don’t know what to ask it to transform into.’

‘There’ll be a way around that,’ said Harry dismissively. ‘You’d better go and get some sleep.’

‘Thank you, Harry Potter, sir!’ squeaked Dobby happily, and the two house-elves vanished.

‘How good is this?’ said Harry enthusiastically, turning to Ron and Hermione the moment the room was elf-free again. ‘We know where Malfoy’s going! We’ve got him cornered now!’

‘Yeah, it’s great,’ said Ron glumly, who was attempting to mop up the sodden mass of ink that had recently been an almost completed essay. Hermione pulled it toward her and began siphoning the ink off with her wand.

‘But what’s all this about him going up there with a variety of students’?’ said Hermione. ‘How many people are in on it? You wouldn’t think he’d trust lots of them to know what he’s doing –’

‘Yeah, that is weird,’ said Harry, frowning. ‘I heard him telling Crabbe it wasn’t Crabbe’s business what he was doing... so what’s he telling all these... all these...’ Harry’s voice tailed away; he was staring at the fire. ‘God, I’ve been stupid,’ he said quietly. ‘It’s obvious, isn’t it? There was a great vat of it down in the dungeon… He could’ve nicked some any time during that lesson...’

‘Nicked what?’ said Ron.

‘Polyjuice Potion. He stole some of the Polyjuice Potion Slughorn showed us in our first Potions lesson… There aren’t a whole variety of students standing guard for Malfoy… it’s just Crabbe and Goyle as usual… Yeah, it all fits!’ said Harry, jumping up and starting to pace in front of the fire. ‘They’re stupid enough to do what they’re told even if he won’t tell them what he’s up to, but he doesn’t want them to be seen lurking around outside the Room of Requirement, so he’s got them taking Polyjuice to make them look like other people… Those two girls I saw him with when he missed Quidditch – ha! Crabbe and Goyle!’

‘Do you mean to say,’ said Hermione in a hushed voice, ‘that that little girl whose scales I repaired – ?’

‘Yeah, of course!’ said Harry loudly, staring at her. ‘Of course! Malfoy must’ve been inside the room at the time, so she – what am I talking about? – he dropped the scales to tell Malfoy not to come out, because there was someone there! And there was that girl who dropped the toadspawn too! We’ve been walking past him all the time and not realizing it!’

‘He’s got Crabbe and Goyle transforming into girls?’ guffawed Ron. ‘Blimey… no wonder they don’t look too happy these days. I’m surprised they don’t tell him to stuff it.’

‘Well, they wouldn’t, would they, if he’s shown them his Dark Mark?’ said Harry.

‘Hmmm... the Dark Mark we don’t know exists,’ said Hermione sceptically, rolling up Ron’s dried essay before it could come to any more harm and handing it to him.

‘We’ll see’ said Harry confidently.

‘Yes, we will,’ Hermione said, getting to her feet and stretching.

A small part of him actually hoped she was right. Hoped Draco was not yet that deep into Voldemort’s cult. The more proof he collected, the more his hope grew that he was wrong. He particularly remembered how ill Draco had looked back at Slughorn’s party, and it was definitely not a sight Harry enjoyed. He missed the shouting, the theatrical bits, the zooming across the Quidditch field, trying to impress the world. Harry hated how much he still missed Draco Malfoy.

Harry did not sleep well that night. He lay awake for what felt like hours, wondering how Malfoy was using the Room of Requirement and what he, Harry, would see when he went in there the following day, for whatever Hermione said, Harry was sure that if Malfoy had been able to see the headquarters of the D.A., he would be able to see Malfoy’s… what could it be? A meeting place? A hideout? A workshop?

Harry’s mind worked feverishly and his dreams, when he finally fell asleep, were broken and disturbed by images of Malfoy, who turned into Slughorn, who turned into Snape…

Harry was in a state of great anticipation over breakfast the following morning; he had a free period before Defence Against the Dark Arts and was determined to spend it trying to get into the Room of Requirement.

Harry was not sure whether his chances of getting inside the room were better with Malfoy inside it or out, but at least his first attempt was not going to be complicated by the presence of Crabbe or Goyle pretending to be an eleven-year-old girl.

He closed his eyes as he approached the place where the Room of Requirement’s door was concealed. He knew what he had to do; he had become most accomplished at it last year. Concentrating with all his might he thought, ‘I need to see what Malfoy’s doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy’s doing in here... I need to see what Malfoy’s doing in here...’

Three times he walked past the door; then, his heart pounding with excitement, he opened his eyes and faced it – but he was still looking at a stretch of mundanely blank wall.

He moved forward and gave it an experimental push. The stone remained solid and unyielding.

‘Okay,’ said Harry aloud. ‘Okay... I thought the wrong thing...’ He pondered for a moment then set off again, eyes closed, concentrating as hard as he could. ‘I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly... I need to see the place where Malfoy keeps coming secretly...’

After three walks past, he opened his eyes expectantly.

There was no door.

‘Oh, come off it,’ he told the wall irritably. ‘That was a clear instruction. Fine.’ He thought hard for several minutes before striding off once more. ‘I need you to become the place you become for Draco Malfoy...’

He did not immediately open his eyes when he had finished his patrolling; he was listening hard, as though he might hear the door pop into existence. He heard nothing, however, except the distant twittering of birds outside. He opened his eyes.

There was still no door.

Harry swore. He tried every variation of ‘I need to see what Draco Malfoy is doing inside you’ that he could think of for a whole hour, at the end of which he was forced to concede that Hermione might have had a point: The room simply did not want to open for him.

. . .

On Sunday morning, Harry got out the Marauder’s Map again. Nearly all the students were inside their various common rooms. Here and there a stray person meandered around the library or up a corridor. There were a few people out in the grounds, and there, alone in the seventh-floor corridor, was Gregory Goyle.

Harry sprinted up the stairs, slowing down only when he reached the corner into the corridor, when he began to creep, very slowly, toward the little girl Hermione had so kindly helped a fortnight before. He waited until he was right behind her before bending very low and whispering, ‘Hello… you’re very pretty, aren’t you?’

Goyle gave a high-pitched scream of terror and sprinted away, vanishing from sight.

Laughing, Harry turned to contemplate the blank wall behind which, he was sure, Draco Malfoy was now standing frozen, aware that someone unwelcome was out there, but not daring to make an appearance. It gave Harry a most agreeable feeling of power as he tried to remember what form of words he had not yet tried.

This hopeful mood did not last long. Half an hour later, having tried many more variations of his request to see what Malfoy was up to, the wall was just as doorless as ever. Harry felt frustrated beyond belief. Malfoy might be just feet away from him, and there was still not the tiniest shred of evidence as to what he was doing in there.

Losing his patience completely, Harry ran at the wall and kicked it. ‘OUCH!’

He thought he might have broken his toe.

. . .

That night, Harry was busy doing what he did increasingly these days when at a loss: poring over his Potions book, hoping that the Prince would have scribbled something useful in a margin, as he had done so many times before.

He found an incantation: ‘Sectumsempra!’, scrawled in a margin above the intriguing words ‘For enemies.’ He itched to try it out, but thought it best not to in front of Hermione. He longed back to second year, when he could just try it out on Malfoy for a laugh. The memory pained him. Instead, he surreptitiously folded down the corner of the page.

They were sitting beside the fire in the common room; the only other people awake were fellow sixth years. There had been a certain amount of excitement earlier when they had come back from dinner to find a new sign on the notice board that announced the date for their Apparition Test. Those who would be seventeen on or before the test date were allowed to take it on the twenty-first of April.

On the afternoon of the apparition exam, there were only three of them in Potions: Harry, Ernie, and Draco Malfoy.

Harry made sure Ernie was in between him and Draco, as that made it easier for him not to stare and analyse, biting his tongue.

Draco looked terrible. His skin still had that greyish tinge, probably because he so rarely saw daylight these days. There was no air of smugness, excitement, or superiority; none of the swagger that he still had on the Hogwarts Express, when he had boasted openly of the mission he had been given by Voldemort...

There could be only one conclusion, in Harry’s opinion: The mission, whatever it was, was going badly.

‘All too young to Apparate just yet?’ said Slughorn genially. ‘Not turned seventeen yet?’

They shook their heads.

‘Ah well,’ said Slughorn cheerily, ‘as we’re so few, we’ll do something for fun. I want you all to brew me up something amusing!’

‘That sounds good, sir,’ said Ernie sycophantically, rubbing his hands together.

Malfoy, on the other hand, did not crack a smile. ‘What do you mean, “something amusing”?’ he said irritably.

‘Oh, surprise me,’ said Slughorn airily.

Malfoy opened his copy of Advanced Potion-Making with a sulky expression. It could not have been plainer that he thought this lesson was a waste of time.

Undoubtedly, Harry thought, watching him over the top of his own book, Malfoy was begrudging the time he could otherwise be spending in the Room of Requirement.

At the end of class, Malfoy was already packing up, sour-faced, while Slughorn pronounced his Hiccuping Solution merely "passable." When the bell rang, both Ernie and Malfoy left at once. Harry took his time, knowing Ron and Hermione weren't back from their Apparition exams anyway.

He was walking the empty corridors of the Dungeon when something made him stumble. Looking around, he saw Malfoy, appearing from behind a tapestry hiding a secret corridor.

‘I know you know, Potter,’ Malfoy started at once.

‘I know you know I know,’ said Harry. ‘And I don’t care.’

Malfoy looked daggers at him. ‘This is not a joke. Stay out of my business.’

‘What business?’

‘I heard you yell, stupid oaf. Sounded like you broke something. You can’t get in, I made certain. Give it up.’

‘I will never give up.’ Harry squinted his eyes. ‘What are you doing in there? What’s taking so long to repair?’

Something almost resembling shock flickered behind Draco’s eyes. ‘How much do you know?’ he asked, his voice sounding slightly less fierce all of a sudden.

‘Everything,’ Harry bluffed. ‘You can talk freely. How’s the reparation going?’

‘Don’t lie to me,’ Draco scoffed. ‘Tell me what you know.’

Harry kept his mouth firmly shut.

‘Tell me!’

Harry advanced at him, lowering his voice. ‘When hell freezes over.’

A strange look flashed across Draco’s face. He squinted.

Then, the Dungeon corridor seemed to blur away. Harry recognized the feeling immediately from his Occlumency lessons with Snape. The memories of his attempts to open the Room of Requirements appeared at the fore-front of his mind.

Startled, he grabbed his wand. ‘Impedimenta!’

Draco casted a wordless Shield charm and looked resentful at Harry, and a little surprised.

After a few seconds of shocked silence, Harry heard himself utter, ‘How could you?’

Draco folded his arms and leaned against the Dungeon wall. Harry searched for the slightest hint of remorse, but Malfoy showed nothing.

‘Just tell me what you know, Potter.’

‘Or what? You’ll _invade_ my mind again?’

He stared at his ex-boy. The cold, steel grey eyes glared back like not a single emotion had ever passed the space behind them.

Harry felt abused. It made him feel cold. ‘What happened to you?’ he stammered.

Malfoy sneered.

Harry was hurting in all new ways. He took a deep breath and marched off, trying to shake off the violated feeling.

. . .

Harry kept regularly checking the Marauder’s Map, and as he was unable to locate Malfoy on it, he deduced that Malfoy was still spending plenty of time within the Room of Requirements. Although Harry was losing hope that he would ever succeed in getting inside the Room of Requirement, he attempted it whenever he was in the vicinity, but no matter how he reworded his request, the wall remained firmly doorless.

Hermione was being insufferable about it. As Harry was working with her on a 'Dozen uses of Dittany' essay in the library, Harry was happy to be distracted by a glance of Pansy. She was alone, roaming the bookshelves quite feverishly in search of something.

‘Right back,’ said Harry to Hermione, and he managed to corner Pansy before she spotted him. ‘Pans?’

She whirled around at the sound of his voice, already drawing her wand.

Harry showed his empty hands. ‘I wanted to ask… Do you know what’s going on with Draco?’

She squinted suspiciously at him. ‘If I did, I wouldn’t tell you.’

‘I know, I mean…’ Harry hesitated.

He was being really foolish again, making himself all vulnerable, and for what? To be slashed down again?

‘I just want to know if you know.’

Are you taking care of him? Are you making sure he eats and sleeps and talks? That’s what Harry wanted to know, but couldn’t ask. If only _Pansy_ would read his mind right now.

She wrinkled her pug-like nose. ‘He won’t tell anyone. He doesn’t talk at all anymore, I hardly ever see him anyway.’

Harry nodded. He was afraid of that.

‘He looks bad,’ he mumbled, feeling very awkward to admit he noticed, let alone felt this need to talk about it.

Pansy looked at him, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Harry waited for her to decide what she wanted to say to him.

At last, she looked away, stepping closer. ‘I’m not supposed to say, but…’ She looked up at him, whispering so quietly Harry could hardly make out the words. ‘He feels bad about the mindreading thing. It was by accident, but if he finds out I said that, he might literally kill me.’

Harry didn't want to think about that. He pushed it aside for later.

‘Are you,’ Harry swallowed his pride and whispered, ‘Are you helping him?’

Pansy shrugged, then nodded. ‘As much as we can.’

Harry felt slightly relieved.

‘Stay out of it, Potter,’ Pansy urged him. ‘You can’t help.’

. . .

A few days before their match against Ravenclaw, Harry found himself walking down to dinner alone from the common room, Ron having rushed off into a nearby bathroom to throw up yet again, and Hermione having dashed off to see Professor Vector about a mistake she thought she might have made in her last Arithmancy essay.

More out of habit than anything, Harry made his usual detour along the seventh-floor corridor, checking the Marauder’s Map as he went. For a moment he could not find Malfoy anywhere and assumed he must indeed be inside the Room of Requirement again, but then he saw Malfoy’s tiny, labelled dot standing in a boys’ bathroom on the floor below, accompanied, not by Crabbe or Goyle, but by Moaning Myrtle.

Harry only stopped staring at this unlikely coupling when he walked right into a suit of armour. The loud crash brought him out of his reverie; hurrying from the scene lest Filch turn up, he dashed down the marble staircase and along the passageway below. Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He could not hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open.

Draco Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.

‘Don’t,’ crooned Moaning Myrtle’s voice from one of the cubicles. ‘Don’t... tell me what’s wrong... I can help you...’

‘No one can help me,’ said Malfoy.

To Harry’s horror, his whole body was shaking.

‘I can’t do it... I can’t... It won’t work… and unless I do it soon... he says he’ll kill me...’

Harry’s knees felt like they were about to give up on him. Kill? Did Draco say someone will kill him?

Then Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Draco Malfoy was crying – actually crying – tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin.

Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror – and he saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder. He wheeled around, drawing his wand, and instinctively, Harry pulled out his own.

Malfoy’s hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another –

‘No! No! Stop it!’ squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. ‘Stop! STOP!’

There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a Leg-Locker Curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy’s ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly.

Water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted, cried, ‘Cruci –’

‘SECTUMSEMPRA!’ bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

‘No –’ gasped Harry.

Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest.

Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: ‘MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!’

‘Oh no no no – I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!’

Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Draco, who was shaking uncontrollably in a growing pool of his own blood. ‘Episky! Episky, episky!’ Harry cursed; the spell didn’t do anything.

‘Harry,’ Draco gasped. ‘Wha–…’ Blood came out of his mouth. Draco vomited blood.

Harry retched. ‘I didn’t know,’ he whispered. ‘Please… look at me, Dra.’

He lifted him into his arms - Draco didn't weigh a thing - and tried to close the wounds with his hands, but there were too many of them and the blood flowed too fast. ‘Stop, _stop_ …’ His voice broke. He felt like crying. He might have been crying already.

The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up: Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry’s curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song.

The flow of blood seemed to ease. Harry let out a cry of relief. Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy’s face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting.

Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead.

When Snape had performed his counter curse for the third time, he half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position. Harry got up to help, but Snape didn’t need it.

‘You need the hospital wing,’ Snape told Draco. ‘There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately we might avoid even that… Come…’

Scarring? Harry looked at the words carved into the back of his hand. Scarring would mean he survived. Could it be possible that Malfoy survived losing this much blood?

As Harry stood transfixed, Snape supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, ‘And you, Potter… You wait here for me.’

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. He could not even find it in himself to tell Moaning Myrtle to be quiet, as she continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.

Harry’s mind went blank. It went blank the way it had after he got back from the graveyard.

At some point, Snape returned. Harry had no idea how long he had been standing there, waiting, motionless in the bathroom.

Snape closed the door behind himself. ‘Go,’ he said to Myrtle, and she swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her.

‘I didn’t mean it to happen,’ said Harry. His trembling voice echoed in the cold, watery space. ‘I didn’t know what that spell did.’

Snape ignored this. ‘Apparently I underestimated you, Potter,’ he said quietly. ‘Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?’

‘I-is he-…?’ Harry swallowed hard. ‘Will he live?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself, Potter, you’re not that powerful.’

Only when he felt the cold stone of the sink, he noticed that he was stumbling backwards. His legs couldn’t carry him anymore. He kneeled down.

Fully aware that Snape was still looking at him, he hid his face behind his hands.

‘Ten o’clock Saturday morning, Potter,’ said Snape. ‘My office.’

Harry nodded. He discreetly wiped his cheecks.

‘Ten o’clock,’ whispered Snape, with a smile that showed his yellow teeth. ‘Poor Gryffindor... fourth place this year, I fear...’

And he left the bathroom without another word, leaving Harry to stare at the pools of blood, feeling sicker, he was sure, than anyone had ever felt in his life.

It took Harry a long time to process Snape’s comment, to remember the rest of his life.

Quidditch… Last match of the year… He was covered in blood. Draco Malfoy’s blood.

There was so much blood. He stumbled to the toilet and vomited until he physically couldn’t anymore.

How could he ever – _ever_ – make up for this?

. . .

The news had travelled very fast: Apparently Moaning Myrtle had taken it upon herself to pop up in every bathroom in the castle to tell the story. Malfoy had already been visited in the hospital wing by Pansy Parkinson, who had lost no time in vilifying Harry far and wide, and Snape had told the staff precisely what had happened.

Harry had already been called out of the common room to endure fifteen highly unpleasant minutes in the company of Professor McGonagall, who had told him he was lucky not to have been expelled and that she supported wholeheartedly Snape’s punishment of detention every Saturday until the end of term.

That wasn’t the unpleasant bit though. The unpleasant bit was how he’d burst out crying. McGonagall had to comfort him with tea and ginger snaps, as if he still deserved kindness.

Harry longed for Umbridge’s Blood Quill.

. . .

‘I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person,’ Hermione said, evidently unable to stop herself. ‘And I was right, wasn’t I.’

‘No, I don’t think you were,’ said Harry stubbornly.

He was having a bad enough time without Hermione lecturing him; the looks on the Gryffindor team’s faces when he had told them he would not be able to play on Saturday had been the second worst punishment of all. Then the image of Draco covered in blood reappeared on his mind’s eye. It went through Harry like an icy knife.

‘Harry,’ said Hermione, ‘how can you still stick up for that book when that spell –’

‘Will you stop harping on about the book!’ snapped Harry. ‘The Prince only copied it out! It’s not like he was advising anyone to use it! For all we know, he was making a note of something that had been used against him!’

‘I don’t believe this,’ said Hermione. ‘You’re actually defending–’

‘I’m not defending what I did!’ said Harry. ‘I wish I hadn’t done it, and not because I’ve got about a dozen detentions. You _know_ I would never have used a spell like that, and _never_ on Draco, but you can’t blame the Prince, he hadn’t written “try this out, it’s really good” – he was just making notes for _himself_ , wasn’t he, not for anyone else… Listen, without the Prince I’d never have won the Felix Felicis. I’d never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I’d never have –’

‘– got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don’t deserve,’ said Hermione nastily.

‘Give it a rest, Hermione!’ said Ginny. ‘By the sound of it, Malfoy was trying to use an Unforgivable Curse, you should be glad Harry had something good up his sleeve!’

Harry felt like the Sectumsempra curse was more unforgivable than the Crucio Curse ever could have been. He would gladly live through a dozen Crucio-curses if he could take that one Sectumsempra spell back.

‘Well, of course I’m glad Harry wasn’t cursed!’ said Hermione, clearly stung. ‘But you can’t call that Sectumsempra spell good, Ginny. Look where it’s landed him!’

Harry’s head shot up. ‘Me? Look where it landed _me_?’

Even now, lying in the hospital wing after almost dying, his friends still didn’t care for Draco Malfoy!

‘No, Harry, I didn’t–…’

‘Look where it landed _Draco,_ Hermione!’ Harry all but tore out his hair.

‘I know!’

‘She knows, Harry,’ said Ginny.

‘Who cares about _detention_!’ Harry shouted. ‘Who _cares_ about _Quidditch_?! You should’ve seen–!’

Harry felt like puking again, thinking back to the sight of the blood. There’d been so much blood.

‘Oh, Harry, I know, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –…’

‘I just _can’t_ with you people!’

There was a silence, in which Harry tried to push the images to the back of his mind, concentrating on not retching.

‘But… Harry…’ Hermione looked confused. ‘ _You’re_ the one trying so hard to bust Malfoy.’

Harry snapped. ‘He’s up to his _neck_ into this Death Eater cult! What would _you_ do?’

Hermione blinked at him, looking quite stupid.

‘What if it were Ron?’ asked Harry heatedly. ‘What if he had to do a task for Voldemort that he couldn’t tell _anyone_ about? Would you just sit here and talk _memories_ with a professor? While nobody else even _cared_ what he’s gotten himself into, that he’s been looking sick for months, that his _entire_ _personality_ changed? That he literally got branded – actually branded, like _livestock_ – by the most evil wizard on the planet?’

Hermione stared at him, eyes like saucers. Finally, she dropped her gaze.

‘Right…’ she whispered.

Harry fell back into his chair. ‘I can’t with you people,’ he repeated.

Hermione didn’t say anything else, but at last, after six long years, Harry finally felt at least a little understood by friends.

Harry realized the common room had become quite silent. Everyone had been listening in on his rant, but Harry didn’t care. Everyone’d already heard his declaration of love last year, this rant couldn’t be news anymore.

Slowly the murmuring and talking started again. Hermione pretended to read, but her eyes didn’t move. Harry knew her long enough to recognize her thinking face.

Harry looked aside at Ron, who’d been watchingHermione.

 _‘You_ don’t think I’m mad, wanting to keep that book, do you?’

‘Course not,’ said Ron robustly. ‘He was a genius, the Prince. Anyway... without his bezoar tip...’ He drew his finger significantly across his own throat, ‘I wouldn’t be here to discuss it, would I?’

‘Yeah…’ said Harry; this was perfectly true, although his conscience squirmed all the same.

‘He’ll heal all right, mate,’ said Ron softly. ‘Back on his feet in no time.’

Harry shot him a grateful smile.

‘Thanks to Snape,’ he couldn’t help but add in a whisper.

. . .

That night Harry couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, the bathroom reappeared in his mind, clearly as if he were there. He didn’t feel tired anyway. If he felt anything, it was guilt. He felt unbearably guilty.

After tossing and turning for hours, he made up his mind. It was no use feeling guilty and do nothing about it, so he rolled out of bed and got out his invisibility cloak.

‘Harry, no,’ whispered Ron, apparently woken up by Harry getting out. ‘It’s not–…’

‘I need to do this,’ Harry hissed. ‘I’m sorry.’

Before going to the Hospital Wing, Harry visited the library. At the ‘Medicine’ section he took out every book he could find about wound-healing spells, or scar-vanishing ones. He shrunk them so they fit in his pockets and went to work in the Hospital Wing.

All was dark and quiet. Harry didn’t make a sound as he found Draco’s bed and kneeled down next to it. Although they had healed considerably, Draco’s face was still covered in cuts. Some of them had opened slightly in his sleep and dragged blood stains over his skin, pillow and bed sheets.

Harry kept needing to remind himself to breath and relax his muscles as he took out the books one by one and silently tried the healing spells on the gashes he'd made.

The spells did nothing. None of them did anything at all.

After wordlessly trying at least fifty spells, Harry ran out of books. He sat down, feeling the urge to break something. It was an awful feeling to be this powerless.

Not wanting to give up so easily, he carefully, slowly, lifted the bed sheets to get acces to Draco’s arm. Maybe faces were more difficult, more sensitive. Maybe he should start easy.

He repeated every spell. He imagined they helped a little.

Halfway through the list of spells, he remembered how hard it was to learn wordless magic. These were new spells he’d never been taught. Maybe he shouldn’t be trying them wordless.

‘Vulnera Sanentur,’ he whispered as quietly as he could.

‘Won’t work, Potter.’

Harry let go off the arm like it was on fire and backed away.

‘Fine,’ whispered Draco. ‘I’ll pretend to sleep.’

Harry put his hands over his mouth to muffle his breathing, wondering how he could sneak out without being heard.

Then Draco started making snoring noises.

Harry almost laughed, more out of relief than anything else: for the first time in over a year, Malfoy tried to make him laugh. As if nothing was wrong.

‘Why are you here?’ Draco asked.

Harry didn’t reply. He kept his mouth safely covered.

‘You shouldn’t… It wasn’t–…’ Draco softly sighed. ‘I wanted to hurt you. You were defending yourself.’

A sneering noise escaped Harry from underneath his hands. He bit in his fist.

‘Rather vigorously perhaps,’ added Malfoy.

‘I almost killed you,’ Harry snapped in a hiss.

‘True…’ admitted Draco, then after a few seconds he added: ‘I–… I… wouldn’t have minded. To be fair.’

It took Harry a minute to process the meaning of that confession.

‘T-to be killed?’ Harry asked. ‘You wouldn’t have minded dying?’

‘Well… there’s worse ways to go, is all I’m saying.’

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Worse ways then bleeding to death at age 16 from massive slashes all over your body, while lying on a bathroom floor, puking up your own blood?’

Draco didn’t respond for a long time. Then, in the softest whisper possible, he added: ‘In the arms of Harry Potter.’

Harry couldn’t hold it anymore. He pressed Draco’s hand to his face and let out a sob.

‘Oh Draco, I ruined everything. I should have been brave. I should have showed everyone that I… that you… that we…’ He took a deep breath. ‘That I’m yours.’

Draco let out a scornful snort. ‘Don’t kid yourself, Potter, you hid that from absolutely no one.’

That single sentence made Harry’s heart break all over again. Draco was fully aware of Harry’s feelings. And yet he –

Harry got up, grabbed Draco’s left arm from underneath the sheets, yanked the sleeve of his pyjama shirt up – and there it was, in all its glory: the snake curling out of a skull's mouth.

The Dark Mark.

Harry collapsed on the bed. ‘You’re not mine.’

It was real. Harry’d been right.

Up until that moment Harry had clung onto the hope that he’d been wrong, that his boy wasn’t dragged down _that_ deep. That it was truly all in Harry’s obsessed head, like everyone said.

Moaning slightly in pain, Draco got up on one elbow. His other hand found Harry’s invisible back.

‘I… I needed to stop loving you.’

Harry felt the heartache all through his body.

‘Do you remember in third grade?’ Draco asked. ‘When you caught the snitch and I caught you?’

Harry nodded, forgetting he still wore the Cloak.

‘It’s the other way around now,’ Draco continued. ‘Only this time it's not a game - and I’m too heavy to catch.’

They sat in silence for a long time, until Draco whispered again.

‘You have to let me go, Potter.’

Harry’s tears dripped on the Dark Mark.

. . .

When Harry woke up, he was alone in the hospital bed. His cloak was carefully placed over him, covering him from head to toe.

After feeling every emotion possible last night, he now felt numb, and it wasn’t unpleasant. It allowed him to walk back to the Gryffindor tower without falling apart.

When he climbed through the portrait hole, Ron and Hermione were there to catch him. They trailed after him to the dormitory and the three of them hid themselves away on Harry’s bed with the curtains closed.

Harry lay on his stomach while Ron and Hermione sat on either side of him, trying to get him to talk.

Harry told them about the Mark. They responded appropriately shocked: Hermione gasped and Ron uttered ‘Blimey!’

He tried to tell them about Draco’s confession, but half of it got stuck in Harry’s throat. He turned on his back to face his friends.

‘I should’ve helped him,’ he wailed. ‘I should’ve _been_ there, made _some_ effort, anything at all. I did nothing, I just let him go. I pushed him right into Voldemort’s arms.’

Ron and Hermione contradicted him, but Harry knew he was right. He was sure that if he’d given Draco a _reason_ to defy his parents, he would have had a better chance to succeed at it. If he’d spend more time with him and introduced him to the Weasleys and the Order, he was sure Draco would have loved them as much as Harry did, eventually. If he hadn’t hidden Draco away, they would’ve had more time together; it might have been Ron, Hermione, Harry and Draco. He’d be over for summer at the Burrow or at Sirius’s house. The Order could’ve slowly broken through his brainwashed mind.

They could at least have tried.

‘I wasted so much time…’

‘We didn’t get along, Harry,’ said Hermione. ‘It’s not your fault.’

‘He didn’t make any effort to be liked,’ said Ron.

‘No,’ Harry cried and sat up straight, ‘of course not, he didn’t know any better. It was _our_ job to make the effort. We should’ve _helped_ him, I should have saved him!’

‘It should never have been your job to save anyone, Harry,’ said Hermione. ‘You’re sixteen!’

‘Draco is sixteen!’

Instead of arguing, Hermione pulled Harry close and held him tight. Ron awkwardly patted his back and Harry had a hard time fighting his tears. 

‘It’s awful,’ Hermione agreed with an actual sob in her voice. ‘It’s all wrong.’

‘But seriously, Harry, you couldn’t have known this was going to happen,’ said Ron. ‘Nobody could’ve guessed this.’

Harry swallowed his tears. ‘Well, I should have,’ he stubbornly mumbled and Ron gingerly smiled.

‘If only you’d paid attention to your tea leaves.’

Hermione laughed and a watery smile even broke through Harry’s heavy remorse.

‘You’re right.’ Harry pulled away from Hermione’s embrace. ‘If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Trelawney’s!’

Ron and Hermione laughed, sounding relieved.

Then the weight of it all fell back on Harry with full force and he clutched his stomach. He didn’t know emotions could feel so physical.

Hermione rubbed his shoulder. ‘It’ll be okay.’

‘Snape’s helping him, right?’ offered Ron. ‘Made the Unbreakable Vow and everything.'

Somehow that was a comforting thought – even if Harry had never gotten on with him, Snape had brilliantly saved Draco’s life yesterday, proving himself to be a reliable ally at keeping Draco alive.

‘And he has his parents,’ said Hermione. ‘They fiercely care about him, don't they?’

Harry remembered Draco’s red line and how he’d complained about his overprotective parents.

Ron and Hermione were on fire. Harry hadn’t thought it possible, but he was actually starting to feel slightly better.

‘It might not be the end of the world,’ said Hermione softly, carefully.

Harry put on something resembling a polite smile.

‘You need food,’ Ron decided. ‘Let’s get breakfast.’

The rest of the day, Ron and Hermione dragged Harry through all the things that used to make him happy. They ate, sat in the sun, and had a game of Quidditch with the other Weasleys. Ron let Harry win at Wizard Chess and kept stuffing him with chocolate. And every time Harry flinched at his own thoughts, clutched his stomach or felt like puking at the flashbacks, Hermione’s silvery otter circled around his ankles. Her Patronus had improved vastly since he taught her last year, and it made Harry feel warm and safe, even if his mind kept on beating him up.

After dinner they lounged at the fire, roasting marshmallows, while watching Dean and Seamus try out some explosives from Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes. Hermione didn’t even reprimand them for it.

Harry felt infinitely better than that morning.

The three of them were interrupted by the appearance of Jimmy Peakes, who was holding out a scroll of parchment.

‘Thanks, Jimmy… Hey, it’s from Dumbledore!’ said Harry, unrolling the parchment and scanning it. ‘He wants me to go to his office as quick as I can!’

They stared at each other.

‘Blimey,’ whispered Ron. ‘You don’t reckon... he hasn’t found...?’

‘Better go and see, hadn’t I?’ said Harry, jumping to his feet.

He hurried out of the common room and along the seventh floor as fast as he could. Then Harry heard a scream and a crash. He stopped in his tracks, listening.

‘How - dare - you - aaaaargh!’

The noise was coming from a corridor nearby; Harry sprinted towards it, his wand at the ready, hurtled round another corner and saw Professor Trelawney sprawled upon the floor, her head covered in one of her many shawls, several sherry bottles lying beside her, one broken.

‘Professor –’

Harry hurried forwards and helped her to her feet. Some of her glittering beads had become entangled with her glasses. She hiccoughed loudly, patted her hair and pulled herself up on Harry’s helping arm.

‘What happened, Professor?’

‘You may well ask!’ she said shrilly. ‘I was strolling along, brooding upon certain Dark portents I happen to have glimpsed...’

But Harry was not paying much attention. He had just noticed where they were standing: there on the right was the tapestry of dancing trolls and, on the left, that smoothly impenetrable stretch of stone wall that concealed -

‘Professor, were you trying to get into the Room of Requirement?’

‘... omens I have been vouchsafed – what?’

She looked suddenly shifty.

‘The Room of Requirement,’ repeated Harry. ‘Were you trying to get in there?’

‘I - well,’ said Professor Trelawney, drawing her shawls around her defensively and staring down at him with her vastly magnified eyes. ‘I wished to – ah – deposit certain – um – personal items in the Room...’ And she muttered something about ‘nasty accusations’.

‘Right,’ said Harry, glancing down at the sherry bottles. ‘But you couldn’t get in and hide them?’

‘Oh, I got in all right,’ said Professor Trelawney, glaring at the wall. ‘But there was somebody already in there. I walked into the Room and I heard a voice, which has never happened before in all my years of hiding–… of using the Room, I mean. It was... whooping.’

‘Whooping?’

‘Gleefully,’ she said, nodding.

Harry stared at her.

‘Was it male or female?’

‘I would hazard a guess at male,’ said Professor Trelawney.

‘And it sounded happy?’

‘Very happy,’ said Professor Trelawney sniffily.

‘As though it was celebrating?’

‘Most definitely.’

‘And then -?’

‘And then I called out, "Who’s there?"’

‘You couldn’t have found out who it was without asking?’ Harry asked her, slightly frustrated.

‘The Inner Eye,’ said Professor Trelawney with dignity, straightening her shawls and many strands of glittering beads, ‘was fixed upon matters well outside the mundane realms of whooping voices.’

‘Right,’ said Harry hastily; he had heard about Professor Trelawney’s Inner Eye all too often before. ‘And did the voice say who was there?’

‘No, it did not,’ she said. ‘Everything went pitch black and the next thing I knew, I was being hurled headfirst out of the Room!’

‘And you didn’t see that coming?’ said Harry, unable to help himself.

‘No, I did not, as I say, it was pitch -’ She stopped and glared at him suspiciously.

‘I think you’d better tell Professor Dumbledore,’ said Harry. ‘He ought to know Malfoy’s celebrating – I mean, that someone threw you out of the Room.’

To his surprise, Professor Trelawney drew herself up at this suggestion, looking haughty. ‘The Headmaster has intimated that he would prefer fewer visits from me,’ she said coldly.

Harry hurried to Professor Dumbledore’s office alone. After entering, he saw Dumbledore standing at the window looking out at the grounds, a long, black travelling cloak in his arms.

‘Well, Harry, I promised that you could come with me.’

For a moment or two, Harry did not understand; the conversation with Trelawney had driven everything else out of his head and his brain seemed to be moving very slowly.

‘Come... with you... ?’

‘What has happened to you?’

‘Nothing,’ lied Harry promptly.

‘Harry, you were never a good Occlumens.’

Harry breathed deeply for a few moments in an effort to steady himself. It did not work.

‘You’re leaving the school tonight and I’ll bet you haven’t even considered that Snape and Malfoy might decide to – ’

‘To what?’ asked Dumbledore, his eyebrows raised. ‘What is it that you suspect them of doing, precisely?’

‘I... they’re up to something!’ said Harry and his hands curled into fists as he said it. ‘Professor Trelawney was just in the Room of Requirement, trying to hide her sherry bottles, and she heard Malfoy whooping, celebrating! He’s trying to mend something dangerous in there and if you ask me he’s fixed it at last and you’re about to just walk out of school – without – ’

‘Enough,’ said Dumbledore. He said it quite calmly, and yet Harry fell silent at once.

‘Do you think that I have once left the school unprotected during my absences this year? I have not. Tonight, when I leave, there will again be additional protection in place. Please do not suggest that I do not take the safety of my students seriously, Harry.’

‘I didn’t – ’ mumbled Harry, a little abashed, but Dumbledore cut across him.

‘I do not wish to discuss the matter any further.’

And so they didn’t. Instead, Harry and Professor Dumbledore left to get a horcrux. The process weakened Professor Dumbledore significantly, and when they got back to the castle, the Dark Mark was glittering directly above the Astronomy Tower, the highest of the castle.

Did that mean death had occurred there?

‘Go and wake Severus,’ said Dumbledore faintly but clearly. ‘Do not remove your Cloak. I shall wait here.’

Harry hurried over to the door leading to the spiral staircase, but his hand had only just closed upon the iron ring of the door when he heard running footsteps on the other side. He looked round at Dumbledore, who gestured to him to retreat. Harry backed away, drawing his wand as he did so.

The door burst open and somebody erupted through it and shouted: ‘Expelliarmus!’

Harry’s body became instantly rigid and immobile, and he felt himself fall back against the Tower wall, propped like an unsteady statue, unable to move or speak.

He could not understand how it had happened – Expelliarmus was not a Freezing Charm.

Then, by the light of the Mark, he saw Dumbledore’s wand flying in an arc over the edge of the ramparts and understood... Dumbledore had wordlessly immobilised Harry, and the second he had taken to perform the spell had cost him the chance of defending himself.

Standing against the ramparts, very white in the face, Dumbledore still showed no sign of panic or distress. He merely looked across at his disarmer and said, ‘Good evening, Draco.’

Harry’s heart dropped into his stomach.

Malfoy stepped forwards, glancing around quickly to check that he and Dumbledore were alone. His eyes fell upon the second broom.

‘Who else is here?’

‘A question I might ask you. Or are you acting alone?’

Harry saw Malfoy’s pale eyes shift back to Dumbledore in the greenish glare of the Mark.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve got back-up. There are Death Eaters here in your school tonight.’

‘Well, well,’ said Dumbledore, as though Malfoy was showing him an ambitious homework project. ‘Very good indeed. You found a way to let them in, did you?’

‘Yeah,’ said Malfoy, who was panting. ‘Right under your nose and you never realised!’

‘Ingenious,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Yet... forgive me... where are they now? You seem unsupported.’

‘They met some of your guard. They’re having a fight down below. They won’t be long... I came on ahead. I – I’ve got a job to do.’

‘Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy,’ said Dumbledore softly.

There was silence. Harry stood imprisoned within his own invisible, paralysed body, staring at the two of them, his ears straining to hear sounds of the Death Eaters’ distant fight, and in front of him, Draco Malfoy did nothing but stare at Albus Dumbledore who, incredibly, smiled.

‘Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.’

‘How do you know?’ said Malfoy at once.

Harry felt sick. He remembered a conversation him and Draco had in third year. Everyone was a killer given the right circumstances, Harry recalled Draco saying.

Draco seemed to realise how childish the words had sounded; Harry saw him flush in the Mark’s greenish light. ‘You don’t know what I’m capable of,’ said Malfoy more forcefully, ‘you don’t know what I’ve done!’

‘Oh, yes, I do,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts... so feeble, to be honest, that I wonder whether your heart has been really in it...’

‘It has been in it!’ said Malfoy vehemently. ‘I’ve been working on it all year, and tonight – ’

Somewhere in the depths of the castle below, Harry heard a muffled yell. Malfoy stiffened and glanced over his shoulder.

‘Somebody is putting up a good fight,’ said Dumbledore conversationally. ‘But you were saying... Yes, you have managed to introduce Death Eaters into my school which, I admit, I thought impossible... how did you do it?’

But Malfoy said nothing: he was still listening to whatever was happening below and seemed almost as paralysed as Harry was.

‘Perhaps you ought to get on with the job alone,’ suggested Dumbledore. ‘What if your back-up has been thwarted by my guard? As you have perhaps realised, there are members of the Order of the Phoenix here tonight, too. And after all, you don’t really need help... I have no wand at the moment... I cannot defend myself.’

Malfoy merely stared at him.

‘I see,’ said Dumbledore kindly, when Malfoy neither moved nor spoke. ‘You are afraid to act until they join you.’

‘I’m not afraid!’ snarled Malfoy, though he still made no move to hurt Dumbledore. ‘It’s you who should be scared!’

‘But why? I don’t think you will kill me, Draco. Killing is not nearly as easy as the innocent believe... so tell me, while we wait for your friends... how did you smuggle them in here? It seems to have taken you a long time to work out how to do it.’

Malfoy looked as though he was fighting down the urge to shout, or to vomit. Harry tried everything he could think of to move.

Draco gulped and took several deep breaths, glaring at Dumbledore, his wand pointing directly at the latter’s heart. Then, as though he could not help himself, he said, ‘I had to mend that broken Vanishing Cabinet that no one’s used for years. The one Montague got lost in last year.’

‘Aaaah…’ Dumbledore’s sigh was half a groan. He closed his eyes for a moment. ‘That was clever... there is a pair, I take it?’

‘The other’s in Borgin and Burkes,’ said Malfoy, ‘and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes what was going on in the shop, as if the Cabinet was travelling between them, but he couldn’t make anyone hear him... in the end he managed to Apparate out, even though he’d never passed his test. He nearly died doing it. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realised what it meant – even Borgin didn’t know – I was the one who realized there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one.’

Harry knew they shouldn’t have underestimated him.

‘Very good,’ murmured Dumbledore. ‘So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you... a clever plan, a very clever plan... and, as you say, right under my nose...’

‘Yeah,’ said Malfoy who, bizarrely, seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore’s praise. ‘Yeah, it was!’

‘But there were times,’ Dumbledore went on, ‘weren’t there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands... poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink...’

‘Yeah, well, you still didn’t realise who was behind that stuff, did you?’ sneered Malfoy, as Dumbledore slid a little down the ramparts, the strength in his legs apparently fading, and Harry struggled fruitlessly, mutely, against the enchantment binding him.

‘As a matter of fact, I did,’ said Dumbledore. ‘I was sure it was you.’

‘Why didn’t you stop me, then?’ Malfoy demanded.

That’s what Harry liked to know as well.

‘I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders.’

‘He hasn’t been doing your orders, he promised my mother – ’

‘Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but – ’

‘He’s a double-agent, you stupid old man, he isn’t working for you, you just think he is!’

‘We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape – ’

‘Well, you’re losing your grip, then!’ sneered Malfoy. ‘He’s been offering me plenty of help – wanting all the glory for himself – wanting a bit of the action – “What are you doing? Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything” – But I haven’t told him what I’ve been doing in the Room of Requirement, he’s going to wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be over and he won’t be the Dark Lord’s favourite anymore, he’ll be nothing compared to me, nothing!’

‘Very gratifying,’ said Dumbledore mildly. ‘We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course... but you must have had an accomplice, all the same... someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the – the – aaaah…’ Dumbledore closed his eyes again and nodded, as though he was about to fall asleep. ‘Of course... Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?’

‘Got there at last, have you?’ Malfoy taunted.

There was another yell from below, rather louder than the last. Malfoy looked nervously over his shoulder again, then back at Dumbledore, who went on, ‘So poor Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her own bathroom and pass that necklace to any Hogwarts student who entered the room unaccompanied? And the poisoned mead... well, naturally, Rosmerta was able to poison it for you before she sent the bottle to Slughorn, believing that it was to be my Christmas present... yes, very neat... very neat... poor Mr Filch would not, of course, think to check a bottle of Rosmerta’s... tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored.’

‘Enchanted coins,’ said Malfoy, as though he was compelled to keep talking, though his wand hand was shaking badly. ‘I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages.’

‘Isn’t that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore’s Army used last year?’ asked Dumbledore. His voice was light and conversational, but Harry saw him slip an inch lower down the wall as he said it.

‘Yeah, I got the idea from them,’ said Malfoy, with a twisted smile. ‘I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger, as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognising potions...’

Harry felt his stomach drop when he realised Malfoy had been listening in on his conversation with Hermione.

‘Please do not use that offensive word in front of me,’ said Dumbledore.

Malfoy gave a harsh laugh. ‘You care about me saying “Mudblood” when I’m about to kill you?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Dumbledore, and Harry saw his feet slide a little on the floor as he struggled to remain upright. ‘But as for being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now. We are quite alone. I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted...’

Malfoy’s mouth contorted involuntarily, as though he had tasted something very bitter.

‘Now, about tonight,’ Dumbledore went on, ‘I am a little puzzled about how it happened... you knew that I had left the school? But of course,’ he answered his own question, ‘Rosmerta saw me leaving, she tipped you off using your ingenious coins, I’m sure...’

‘That’s right,’ said Malfoy. ‘But she said you were just going for a drink, you’d be back...’

‘Well, I certainly did have a drink... and I came back... after a fashion,’ mumbled Dumbledore. ‘So you decided to spring a trap for me?’

‘We decided to put the Dark Mark over the Tower and get you to hurry up here, to see who’d been killed,’ said Malfoy. ‘And it worked!’

‘Well... yes and no...’ said Dumbledore. ‘But am I to take it, then, that nobody has been murdered?’

‘Someone’s dead,’ said Malfoy and his voice seemed to go up an octave as he said it. ‘One of your people... I don’t know who, it was dark... I stepped over the body... I was supposed to be waiting up here when you got back, only your Phoenix lot got in the way...’

‘Yes, they do that,’ said Dumbledore.

There was a bang and shouts from below, louder than ever; it sounded as though people were fighting on the actual spiral staircase that led to where Dumbledore, Malfoy and Harry stood, and Harry’s heart thundered unheard in his invisible chest... someone was dead... Malfoy had stepped over the body... but who was it?

There is little time, one way or another,’ said Dumbledore. ‘So let us discuss your options, Draco.’

‘My options!’ said Malfoy loudly. ‘I’m standing here with a wand – I’m about to kill you!’

‘My dear boy, let us have no more pretence about that. If you were going to kill me, you would have done it when you first Disarmed me, you would not have stopped for this pleasant chat about ways and means.’

‘I haven’t got any options!’ said Malfoy, and he was suddenly as white as Dumbledore. ‘I’ve got to do it! He’ll kill me! He’ll kill my whole family!’

Harry wanted to give everything he had to be free from the paralysis. They could figure it out, he was sure they could.

‘I appreciate the difficulty of your position,’ said Dumbledore. ‘Why else do you think I have not confronted you before now? Because I knew that you would have been murdered if Lord Voldemort realised that I suspected you.’

Malfoy winced at the sound of the name.

‘I did not dare speak to you of the mission with which I knew you had been entrusted, in case he used Legilimency against you,’ continued Dumbledore. ‘But now at last we can speak plainly to each other... no harm has been done, you have hurt nobody, though you are very lucky that your unintentional victims survived... I can help you, Draco.’

‘No, you can’t,’ said Malfoy, his wand hand shaking very badly indeed. ‘Nobody can. He told me to do it or he’ll kill me. I’ve got no choice.’

‘Come over to the right side, Draco, and we can hide you more completely than you can possibly imagine. What is more, I can send members of the Order to your mother tonight to hide her likewise. Your father is safe at the moment in Azkaban... when the time comes we can protect him too... come over to the right side, Draco... you are not a killer...’

Malfoy stared at Dumbledore.

‘But I got this far, didn’t I?’ he said slowly. ‘They thought I’d die in the attempt, but I’m here... and you’re in my power... I’m the one with the wand... you’re at my mercy...’

‘No, Draco,’ said Dumbledore quietly. ‘It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now.’

Malfoy did not speak. His mouth was open, his wand hand still trembling. Harry thought he saw it drop by a fraction –

But suddenly footsteps were thundering up the stairs and a second later Malfoy was buffeted out of the way as four people in black robes burst through the door onto the ramparts. Still paralysed, his eyes staring unblinkingly, Harry gazed in terror upon four strangers: it seemed the Death Eaters had won the fight below.

A lumpy-looking man with an odd lopsided leer gave a wheezy giggle.

‘Dumbledore cornered!’ he said, and he turned to a stocky little woman who looked as though she could be his sister and who was grinning eagerly. ‘Dumbledore wandless, Dumbledore alone! Well done, Draco, well done!’

‘Do it,’ said the stranger standing nearest to Harry, a big, rangy man with matted grey hair and whiskers, whose black Death Eater’s robes looked uncomfortably tight. He had a voice like none that Harry had ever heard: a rasping bark of a voice. Harry could smell a powerful mixture of dirt, sweat and, unmistakeably, of blood coming from him. His filthy hands had long yellowish nails.

‘Is that you, Fenrir?’ asked Dumbledore.

‘That’s right,’ rasped the other. ‘Pleased to see me, Dumbledore?’

‘No, I cannot say that I am...’

Fenrir Greyback grinned, showing pointed teeth. Blood trickled down his chin and he licked his lips slowly, obscenely.

‘But you know how much I like kids, Dumbledore.’

‘I am a little shocked that Draco here invited you, of all people, into the school where his friends live...’

‘I didn’t,’ breathed Malfoy. He was not looking at Greyback; he did not seem to want to even glance at him. Harry couldn’t blame him. ‘I didn’t know he was going to come.’

‘I wouldn’t want to miss a trip to Hogwarts, Dumbledore,’ rasped Greyback. ‘We’ve got orders. Now, Draco, and quickly.’

Malfoy was showing less resolution than ever. He looked terrified as he stared into Dumbledore’s face, which was even paler, and rather lower than usual, as he had slid so far down the rampart wall.

‘Now, Draco, quickly!’ said the brutal-faced man angrily.

But Malfoy’s hand was shaking so badly that he could barely aim.

‘Draco, do it, or stand aside so one of us – ’ screeched the woman, but at that precise moment the door to the ramparts burst open once more and there stood Snape, his wand clutched in his hand as his black eyes swept the scene, from Dumbledore slumped against the wall, to the four Death Eaters, including the enraged werewolf, and Malfoy.

‘We’ve got a problem, Snape,’ said the lumpy Death Eater, whose eyes and wand were fixed alike upon Dumbledore, ‘the boy doesn’t seem able – ’

Snape said nothing, but walked forwards and pushed Malfoy roughly out of the way. He raised his wand and pointed it directly at Dumbledore.

‘Avada Kedavra!’


	7. Chapter 7

‘Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?’

‘Of course, my Lord,’ said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. ‘We did desire it – we do.’

To Malfoy’s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

‘Your niece, Lucius and Narcissa, and yours, Bellatrix. She has just married the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.’

There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists.

Bellatrix’s face turned an ugly, blotchy red. ‘She is no niece of ours, my Lord,’ she cried over the outpouring of mirth. ’We – Narcissa and I – have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.’

‘What say you, Draco?’ asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. ‘Will you babysit the cubs?’

The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his mother’s eye. She shook her head almost imperceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the opposite wall.

‘Do you recognize our guest, Draco?’ asked Voldemort, as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

Draco shook his head jerkily.

‘But you would not have taken her classes,’ said Voldemort. ‘For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage who, until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.’

There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort’s voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face them. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair.

‘ _Avada Kadavra._ ’

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.

. . .

The pain in Harry’s scar was reaching a peak, burning as it had back in the garden of the Burrow, when Bill and Fleur’s wedding was so brutally interrupted. Harry could not fight the pain much longer. He had to succumb.

‘Bathroom,’ he muttered, and he left the room at Grimmauld’s place as fast as he could without running.

He barely made it: bolting the door behind him with trembling hands, he grasped his pounding head and fell to the floor, then in an explosion of agony, he felt the rage that did not belong to him possess his soul, saw a long room lit only by firelight, and the giant blond Death Eater on the floor, screaming and writhing, and a slighter figure standing over him, wand outstretched, while Harry spoke in a high, cold, merciless voice.

‘Lord Voldemort is not sure that he will forgive this time… You called me back for this, to tell me that Harry Potter has escaped again? Draco, give Rowle another taste of our displeasure… Do it, or feel my wrath yourself!’

A log fell in the fire: Flames reared, their light darting across a terrified, pointed white face –

With a sense of emerging from deep water, Harry drew heaving breaths and opened his eyes. He was spread-eagled on the cold black marble floor, his nose inches from one of the silver serpent tails that supported the large bathtub. He sat up.

Draco’s gaunt, petrified face seemed burned on the inside of his eyes. Harry felt sickened by what he had seen, by the use to which Draco was now being put by Voldemort.

Harry threw up in the toilet next to him. For the first time he wished he’d been better at Occlumency. He didn’t know if he could handle seeing more of everything that happened to Draco, while not being able to do anything about it.

If at all possible he would take off right now to Malfoy Manor. Together, him and Draco might stand a chance of getting away. Harry had escaped Voldemort before, who said he couldn’t do it again?

Of course, Hermione and Ron would advise against it. They’d have all kinds of reasons, and who was to say Draco even wanted to come with them? He had chosen this path himself – or well, he’d chosen the path that didn’t end up getting himself and his parents killed... Harry wasn’t sure how voluntary Draco’s decision had been, at this point.

And even if Harry went to Malfoy Manor, Draco would probably not want to leave his parents behind – and there was no way Lucius Malfoy was going to help them find horcruxes.

All in all, Harry knew he shouldn’t, but his whole heart wanted to be with Draco _right now_.

. . .

The entire journey to find Horcruxes, Harry couldn’t stop worrying about what was happening at the Malfoy Manor. The boy was at the back of his mind with everything they did. He couldn’t forget the fear in Malfoy's voice on that Tower top, nor the fact that he had lowered his wand before the other Death Eaters arrived. Harry did not believe that Malfoy would have killed Dumbledore.

Where, Harry wondered, was Malfoy now, and what was Voldemort making him do under threat of killing him and his parents?

When Ron listened to Potterwatch on the radio, Harry wondered if they would even mention it if something happened to Draco. He worried that they wouldn’t and it killed him inside to fear he was already gone without anyone knowing, without anyone caring.

Harry cared. He cared so much.

He had taken Draco’s postcard with him, and after seeing Malfoy’s face through Voldemort’s eyes Harry had been so desperate to talk to him that he even wrote on it. Just a plain ‘Are you okay?’ Nothing more, nothing less.

He checked for a reply every day, but nothing happened. His words stood still on the paper, as if the postcard were just a common piece of stationary.

Then in September, the card changed. Not his message – Draco still hadn’t replied, so that stayed the same – but the address changed. Instead of saying ‘Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire, England’, it now read: ‘Slytherin dorm, Hogwarts castle, Scotland.’

Harry wondered if Draco had done that, and why? Did he want Harry to know he was safe? He wondered if it was possible that Draco’s messages were misdelivered since Harry wasn’t at Private Drive anymore.

All of a sudden the postcard started glowing, becoming so hot that it burned Harry’s skin and caused Harry’s pants to catch fire. Harry and Ron managed to put it out and Ron quickly covered for Harry to Hermione, saying they’d been experimenting with the Deluminator.

When Harry checked the postcard, it was blackened, like a burned log of wood. The words were unreadable and the edges were frayed. Harry felt like he lost a part of himself.

‘What was it?’ Ron asked, and Harry – tired of lying – told him the truth.

Ron lifted his eyebrows. ‘You been writing Malfoy?’

A sad sigh escaped Harry. ‘Not since fourth year…’

‘Then what’s it doing in your pocket?’

Harry looked up at him. Ron didn’t look judgmental at all, just confused. ‘I asked if he’s okay. I don’t think he’ll be on Potterwatch… and I–… I needed to know.’

Ron blinked, thinking about it. ‘What do you reckon made it catch fire?’

Harry bit his lip. ‘I don’t know. We’d know if Hogwarts burned down, right? He’s safe there?’

‘Hogwarts can’t burn down. How do you know he’s back at Hogwarts? Last year, he said he wouldn’t go back.’

‘The address on the card,’ Harry explained. ‘It changed from Malfoy Manor to Hogwarts.’

‘Oh right… Like the address on the Hogwarts letters; they follow you ar-… Bloody hell! Harry, was _your_ address on _his_ postcard?’

Something cold closed around Harry’s heart. A sort of shriek slipped from his throat.

‘Oh no! I’m such an arse!’ he hissed. ‘I put us all in danger! What if anyone found it? Don’t tell Hermione!’

Ron started laughing. ‘Don’t worry, mate. Nothing happened, right? Good thing Malfoy burnt it. Might not be such a bad bloke after all.’

Harry jumped up. ‘We better leave. We can’t be sure no one else saw it. We can’t – ’ Harry took a deep breath. ‘We can’t be sure he’s on our side.’

And so they packed up and left, telling Hermione they had a bad feeling, which somehow was a solid reason for her.

. . .

Even without Harry’s mistake, Harry, Ron and Hermione eventually got caught, by Greyback the werewolf and some Snatchers. Moments before they were caught, Hermione had Stung Harry, so his face felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers, tight, swollen, and puffy as though he had suffered some violent allergic reaction. His eyes had been reduced to slits through which he could barely see. 

‘Will you summon ’im? ’ere?’ said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.

‘No,’ snarled Greyback, ‘I haven’t got–they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.’

Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback had not been granted this highest honour.

Draco had, Harry couldn’t help but think.

They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Harry struggled, trying to throw off Greyback’s hand, but it was hopeless: Ron and Hermione were squeezed tightly against him on either side; he could not separate from the group.

The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Harry’s eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive.

Harry knew he should be scared, scared about Voldemort finding him, killing them all. But as they walked up to the Manor, another fear grew inside Harry. A fear mingled with hope: did Draco Malfoy live?

The prisoners were pushed over gravel. Then, light spilled out over all of them.

‘What is this?’ said a woman’s cold voice.

‘We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!’ rasped Greyback.

‘Who are you?’

‘You know me!’ There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. ‘Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!’

Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.

‘I know ’es swollen, ma’am, but it’s ’im!’ piped up Scabior. ‘If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ’is scar. And this ’ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been traveling around with ’im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ’im, and we’ve got ’is wand as well! ’Ere, ma’am–’

Through his puffy eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face.

Harry, in turn, tried to read her face, see if they told him anything about Draco. Harry reckoned she ought to look devastated if something happened to her son.

Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows. ‘Bring them in,’ she said.

Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.

‘Follow me,’ said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. ‘My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays.’

Harry heard himself moan in relief. So far, so good.

‘If that is Harry Potter, he will know.’

The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

‘What is this?’

The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry’s ears. He was panicking now. He could see no way out.

‘They say they’ve got Potter,’ said Narcissa’s cold voice. ‘Draco, come here.’

Something seemed to squeeze Harry’s throat. Draco would recognize him. He didn’t doubt it for a second. No matter if his face was swollen or his hair hadn’t been cut for months. As soon as Draco looked at him, he’d recognize his clothes, his eyes, the way he moved. Hell, he’d recognize his little finger, he’d said so once – at the amount of dirt under his nails, to be exact.

Harry wanted to look at Draco. Watch him one more time, before it was all over. But looking him in the eye meant showing him even more than he already did.

So Harry did not look at Draco directly, but saw him obliquely: a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair.

He wasn’t limping, Harry noted, he still had two arms and two legs. To Harry and his increasingly wild worries this was a big relief already. Draco didn’t swagger or strut the way he used to, but all the same it was still completely Harry’s old familiar Draco Malfoy.

Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier.

‘Well, boy?’ rasped the werewolf.

Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place. His face was huge, shiny, and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses.

He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away, and he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached.

‘Well, Draco?’ said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. ‘Is it? Is it Harry Potter?’

‘I can’t – can’t be sure,’ said Draco.

He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

‘But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!’

Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.

‘Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiven!’ His gray eyes raked Harry’s forehead. ‘There’s something there,’ he whispered. ‘it could be the scar, stretched tight… Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?’

Harry saw Draco’s face up close, right beside his father’s.

If Harry’s body, face or his eyes didn’t give him away, then he was certain that his heart would. It was beating louder than ever at the sight of his boy; like an excited puppy seeing its owner. Draco looked healthy, perfectly healthy, considering the circumstances.

And oh, Harry had missed him. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized how terribly, dreadfully much he’d missed him. It was a good thing that Harry’s hands were tied behind his back, otherwise he might have wrapped them around Draco and never let go.

‘Draco,’ his father hissed. ‘Merlin knows you’ve got Harry Potter’s every detail etched inside that obsessed little skull of yours, so for _once_ make yourself useful and tell us if this is him!’

While his father looked beside himself with excitement, Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

‘I don’t know,’ he said, and he walked away toward the fireplace where his mother stood watching.

‘We had better be certain, Lucius,’ Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice.

‘What about the Mudblood, then?’ growled Greyback.

Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.

‘Wait,’ said Narcissa sharply. ‘Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?’

‘I… maybe… yeah.’

‘But then, that’s the Weasley boy!’ shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Ron. ‘It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco, look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name – ?’

‘Yeah,’ said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. ‘It could be.’

The drawing room door opened behind Harry, and Bellatrix got in.

Narcissa told her about Harry Potter, and right away, Bellatrix almost summoned Voldemort. Then her eye fell on the sword of Gryffindor. She demanded to know how the Snatchers got it.

When the Snatchers wanted to keep the sword to themselves she Stunned them all.

‘Draco, move this scum outside,’ said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. ‘If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.’

‘Don’t you dare speak to Draco like that!’ said Narcissa furiously.

Harry felt a strange gratitude. Narcissa was fearlessly taking care of Malfoy, and that was more than Harry could say for himself.

Harry and the other prisoners were taken to the cellar – all except Hermione, who was kept upstairs by Bellatrix for questioning.

They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment.

Downstairs, behind a heavy door in a pitch black darkness, they found Ollivander, Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood. Upstairs in the drawing room, they could hear Hermione getting tortured, making Harry’s skin crawl.

Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists, and Harry in utter desperation seized Hagrid’s pouch from around his neck and groped inside it. The mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and he saw a gleam of the brightest blue — Dumbledore’s eye was gazing at him out of the mirror.

'Help us!' Harry yelled at it in mad desperation. 'We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!'

The eye blinked and was gone. Harry was not even sure that it had really been there, and upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever.

‘We’ve never been inside your vault…’ Hermione sobbed. ‘It isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!’

‘A copy?’ screeched Bellatrix. ‘Oh, a likely story!’

‘But we can find out easily!’ came Lucius’s voice. ‘Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!’

Aside from being tormented by the sound of Hermione’s pain, Harry didn’t like how Draco was being ordered around, and how quietly he obeyed it all. The Draco Harry knew and loved had never been the submissive type.

They could hear someone scuttling down the cellar steps, and next moment, Draco’s shaking voice spoke from behind the door.

Harry’s mind was racing for a way to get them all out. All of them, including Draco.

‘Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!’

As the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness.

Not a single idea that would save everyone popped into Harry’s mind. Feeling infuriated by his helplessness, Harry did as they were bidden.

The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined.

Without thinking, Harry stuck out his hand, touching Draco’s fingers. It made the boy flinch and whack his wand towards the person daring to touch him. When he recognized Harry in the half dark, his eyes softened.

‘Fool,’ he whispered. Pointing his wand blindly around at the others, he took Harry’s hand and leaned over, hissing: ‘You _need_ to escape, Potter. One more time.’ He squeezed Harry’s hand. ‘For me.’

Harry pulled him closer. ‘You–…’

Draco let go of his hand. ‘I’m fine, stupid sap. Don’t be a hero, save yourself.’

He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him.

Harry turned to Ron. ‘He didn’t _look_ fine.’

‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’ Ron bellowed.

Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Draco marching Griphook to Bellatrix. The cellardoor slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.

Dobby the house elf had appeared.

'Harry Potter,' he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, 'Dobby has come to rescue you.'

'Dobby,' said Harry, never so grateful to see the house elf as in that moment. 'I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander, and take them — take them to —'

'Bill and Fleur’s,' said Ron.

With another CRACK Dobby disapparated again, taking away Ollivander, Dean Thomas and Luna Lovegood.

‘What was that?’ shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. ‘Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?’

Harry and Ron stared at each other.

‘Draco–no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!’

Wormtail entered the cellar, but Ron and Harry managed to overpower him. With Wormtail’s wand in hand, Ron crept back up to the drawing room, Harry right behind him.

‘And I think,’ said Bellatrix’s voice, ‘we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.’

‘NOOOOOOOOOOOO!’

Ron had burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron.

‘Expelliarmus!’ he roared, pointing Wormtail’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry, who had sprinted after Ron.

Lucius, Narcissa, Draco, and Greyback wheeled about; Harry yelled, ‘Stupefy!’ and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth.

Jets of light flew from Narcissa’s and Greyback’s wands; Harry threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them.

‘STOP OR SHE DIES!’

Panting, Harry peered around the edge of the sofa. Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat.

‘Drop your wands,’ she whispered. ‘Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!’

They had no choice. They dropped their wands.

‘Good!’ she leered. ‘Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!’

Harry knew it; his scar was bursting with the pain of it, and he could see no way out.

‘Now,’ said Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands.

There was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall.

Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream.

The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor.

Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions, bloodying Draco’s face. As Ron ran to pull Hermione out of the wreckage, Draco doubled over to shield himself, and the wands flung out of his hands, in Harry’s direction.

Harry leapt over an armchair, caught the wands, pointed all three of them at Greyback, and yelled, ‘Stupefy!’

The werewolf was lifted off his feet by the triple spell, flew up to the ceiling, and then smashed to the ground. As Narcissa dragged Draco out of the way of further harm, Bellatrix sprang to her feet, her hair flying as she brandished the silver knife.

‘Dobby!’ she screamed. ‘You! You dropped the chandelier–?’

‘Ron, catch and GO!’ Harry yelled, throwing one of the wands to him; then he bent down to tug Griphook out from under the chandelier. Hoisting the groaning goblin, who still clung to the sword, over one shoulder, Harry seized Dobby’s hand and spun on the spot to Disapparate.

As he turned into darkness he caught one last view of the drawing room: of the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron’s hair, and a blur of flying silver, as Bellatrix’s knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing.

And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air. Harry fell to his knees.

‘Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?’ he whispered, clutching the two wands he had brought from the Malfoys’, ready to fight if he needed to. ‘Have we come to the right place? Dobby?’

He looked around. The little elf stood feet from him, swaying slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes. Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest.

Harry caught him and laid him sideways on the cool grass. And then with a little shudder the elf became quite still, and his eyes were nothing more than great glassy orbs, sprinkled with light from the stars they could not see.

. . .

After sitting in the darkness for a while, holding Dobby, Harry realized that they had, after all, come to the right place, for here were Bill and Fleur, Dean and Luna, gathering around him.

‘Hermione,’ Harry said. ‘Where is she?’

‘Ron’s taken her inside,’ said Bill. ‘She’ll be all right.’

Harry looked back down at Dobby. He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf’s body, then dragged off his own jacket and covered Dobby in it like a blanket.

As he did so, he gazed down at the tiny body, and his scar prickled and burned, and in one part of his mind, viewed as if from the wrong end of a long telescope, he saw Voldemort punishing those they had left behind at Malfoy Manor. His rage was dreadful and yet Harry’s grief for Dobby seemed to diminish it, so that it became a distant storm that reached Harry from across a vast, silent ocean.

Until one tiny, pale figure appeared, there on that wrong end of the telescope. Harry fell on his knees, dropping Dobby.

Bill, Fleur, Luna and Dean all hurried over to him, as Harry tried with all that he could to block out the images flooding his mind.

He heard the others talk, but all he could see was the face of Draco Malfoy, screaming in pain.

‘Harry, are you alright?’

‘No,’ Harry managed to whisper. He gasped. ‘Draco–…’

. . .

After escaping from Malfoy Manor, Harry adopted Draco’s wand. He had been surprised, but pleased, to discover that it worked for him at least as well as Hermione’s had done. Nevertheless, he asked Ollivander to examine it.

‘Hawthorn and unicorn hair,’ murmured Ollivander, lost in thought. ‘Hawthorn wands have healing power, but are also good for curses. They seem most at home with a conflicted nature, or with a witch or wizard passing through a period of turmoil.’ He mindlessly turned the wand over in his hands. ‘Wands with unicorn hair cores are generally the most difficult to turn to the Dark Arts.’ Snapping out of it, he handed the wand back to Harry. ‘Ten inches precisely, reasonably springy: this was the wand of Draco Malfoy.’

‘Was?’ repeated Harry. ‘Isn’t it still his?’

‘Perhaps not. If you took it –’

‘– I did –’

‘– then it may be yours.’

‘I’m not sure if I took this wand by force or if Malfoy gave it to me,’ said Harry. ‘Does it matter?’

‘I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership. The conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master, but the allegiance of a voluntarily given wand is deliberate, unbound and far superior.’

Harry’s heart swell. Draco might have unknowingly given him a powerful weapon.

. . .

‘I know what the fifth horcrux looks like, and I know where it is!’ said Harry.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had just robbed Gringotts and escaped on a real life dragon, and were now lying on the bank of a lake in the setting sun. Harry’s head pounded, as he’d just watched Voldemort find out about his missing Horcruxes.

‘He hid the diadem in the castle, the night he asked Dumbledore to let him teach!’ He got to his feet. ‘He must’ve hidden the diadem on his way up to, or down from, Dumbledore’s office. He hid it exactly where I hid my old Potions book, where everyone’s been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it.’

Ron scrambled to his feet too.

‘Wait, wait!’ cried Hermione as Ron caught up the Horcrux and Harry pulled out the Invisibility Cloak again. ‘We can’t just go, we haven’t got a plan, we need to – ’

‘We need to get going,’ said Harry firmly. He had been hoping to sleep, but that was impossible now. ‘Can you imagine what he’s going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn’t safe enough?’

‘But how are we going to get in?’

‘We’ll go to Hogsmeade,’ said Harry, ‘and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school’s like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time.’

Hermione took a deep breath, then walked forward and took her place between the other two. Harry pulled the Cloak down as far as it would go, and together they turned on the spot into the crushing darkness.

. . .

‘Potter,’ said Professor McGonagall, after Harry had finally found her in the castle and had explained the situation as quickly as he could, ‘if He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does indeed know that you are here –’

‘Voldemort’s getting nearer. Professor,’ Harry interrupted. ‘I’m acting on Dumbledore’s orders, I must find what he wanted me to find! But we’ve got to get the students out while I’m searching the castle – it’s me Voldemort wants, but he won’t care about killing a few more or less.’

‘You’re acting on Dumbledore’s orders?’ McGonagall repeated with a look of dawning wonder. Then she drew herself up to her fullest height. ‘We shall secure the school against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named while you search for this – this object.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘I think so,’ said Professor McGonagall dryly, ‘we teachers are rather good at magic, you know. I am sure we will be able to hold him off for a while if we all put our best efforts into it.’

And so the battle of Hogwarts had begun. As the walls trembled, Harry led Ron and Hermione down the staircase to the stretch of wall beyond which the Room of Requirement was waiting to do the bidding of the next entrant.

 _I need the place where everything is hidden_ , Harry begged of it inside his head, and the door materialized on their third run past.

The furore of the battle died the moment they crossed the threshold and closed the door behind them. All was silent. They were in a place the size of a cathedral with the appearance of a city, its towering walls built of objects hidden by thousands of long-gone students.

‘And he never realized anyone could get in?’ said Ron, his voice echoing in the silence.

‘He thought he was the only one,’ said Harry. ‘Too bad for him I’ve had to hide stuff in my time… this way,’ he added, ‘I think it’s down here…’

He passed the stuffed troll and the Vanishing Cabinet Draco Malfoy had mended last year with such disastrous consequences, then hesitated, looking up and down aisles of junk; he could not remember where to go next…

‘Let’s split up,’ Harry told the other two. ‘Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a wig and a tiara! It’s standing on a cupboard and it’s definitely somewhere near here…’

They sped off up adjacent aisles; Harry could hear the others’ footsteps echoing through the towering piles of junk, of bottles, hats, crates, chairs, books, weapons, broomsticks, bats…

Deeper and deeper into the labyrinth he went, looking for objects he recognized from his one previous trip into the room. His breath was loud in his ears, and then his very soul seemed to shiver: there it was, right ahead, the blistered old cupboard in which he had hidden his old Potions book, and on top of it, the pockmarked stone warlock wearing a dusty old wig and what looked like an ancient, discoloured tiara.

He had already stretched out his hand, though he remained ten feet away, when a voice behind him said, ‘Hold it, Potter.’

He skidded to a halt and turned around.

Crabbe and Goyle were standing behind him, shoulder to shoulder, wands pointing right at Harry. Through the small space between their jeering faces he saw Draco Malfoy.

‘Draco!’ Harry couldn’t keep his relief out of his voice.

‘That’s my wand you’re holding, Potter,’ said Malfoy, pointing his own through the gap between Crabbe and Goyle.

‘Ah yes, thank you for that,’ panted Harry, tightening his grip on the hawthorn wand. ‘Who’s lent you theirs?’

‘My mother,’ said Draco.

‘I’m glad,’ Harry tried not to smile. The situation was far too grave to smile at an ex-lover being in safe possession of a wand during a war – he could not hear Ron or Hermione anymore. They seemed to have run out of earshot, searching for the diadem.

‘So how come you three aren’t with Voldemort?’ asked Harry.

‘We’re gonna be rewarded,’ said Crabbe. His voice was surprisingly soft for such an enormous person; Harry had hardly ever heard him speak before. Crabbe was smiling like a small child promised a large bag of sweets. ‘We ’ung back, Potter. We decided not to go. Decided to bring you to ’im.’

‘Good plan,’ said Harry in mock admiration.

He could not believe that he was this close, and was going to be thwarted by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle. He began edging slowly backward toward the place where the Horcrux sat lopsided upon the bust. If he could just get his hands on it before the fight broke out…

‘So how did you get in here?’ he asked, trying to distract them.

Malfoy scowled at him and Harry knew he was thinking about the Yule ball.

‘I virtually lived in the Room of Hidden Things all last year,’ said Malfoy, his voice brittle. ‘I know how to get in.’

Oh yeah, remembered Harry, that too.

‘Harry?’ Ron’s voice echoed suddenly from the other side of the wall to Harry’s right. ‘Are you talking to someone?’

With a whiplike movement, Crabbe pointed his wand at the fifty-foot mountain of old furniture, of broken trunks, of old books and robes and unidentifiable junk, and shouted, ‘Descendo!’

The wall began to totter, then the top third crumbled into the aisle next door where Ron stood.

‘No!’ shouted Malfoy, staying Crabbe’s arm as the latter made to repeat his spell.

‘Ron!’ Harry bellowed, as somewhere out of sight Hermione screamed, and Harry heard innumerable objects crashing to the floor on the other side of the destabilized wall.

He pointed his wand at the rampart, cried, ‘Finite!’ and it steadied.

‘If you wreck the room you might bury this diadem thing!’ Malfoy shouted at Crabbe.

Crabbe tugged himself free. ‘It’s Potter the Dark Lord wants, who cares about a die-dum?’

‘Potter came in here to get it,’ said Malfoy with ill-disguised impatience at the slow-wittedness of his colleagues, ‘so that must mean –’

‘“Must mean”’?’ Crabbe turned on Malfoy with undisguised ferocity. ‘Who cares what you think? I don’t take your orders no more, Draco. You an’ your dad are finished.’

‘Harry?’ shouted Ron again, from the other side of the junk wall. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Harry?’ mimicked Crabbe. ‘What’s going – No, Potter! Crucio!’

‘STOP!’ Malfoy shouted at Crabbe, his voice echoing through the enormous room.

Harry had lunged for the tiara; Crabbe’s curse missed him but hit the stone bust, which flew into the air; the diadem soared upward and then dropped out of sight in the mass of objects on which the bust had rested.

‘What are you doing?’ yelled Crabbe, throwing off Malfoy’s restraining arm.

‘The Dark Lord wants him alive –’ stammered Malfoy.

‘So? I’m not killing him, am I? But if I can, I will, the Dark Lord wants him dead anyway, what’s the diff – ?’

A jet of scarlet light shot past Harry by inches: Hermione had run around the corner behind him and sent a Stunning Spell straight at Crabbe’s head. It only missed because Malfoy pulled him out of the way.

‘It’s that Mudblood! Avada Kedavra!’

Harry saw Hermione dive aside, and his fury that Crabbe had aimed to kill wiped all else from his mind. He shot a Stunning Spell at Crabbe, who lurched out of the way, knocking Malfoy’s wand out of his hand; it rolled out of sight beneath a mountain of broken furniture and boxes.

‘Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!’ Malfoy cried as he lunged himself at Crabbe and Goyle, who were both aiming at Harry.

Their split second of staggering under Draco’s vigour was all Harry needed. ‘Expelliarmus!’

Goyle’s wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the bulwark of objects beside him; Goyle leapt foolishly on the spot, trying to retrieve it; Malfoy jumped out of range of Hermione’s second Stunning Spell, and Ron, appearing suddenly at the end of the aisle, shot a full Body-Bind Curse at Crabbe, which narrowly missed.

Crabbe wheeled around and screamed, ‘Avada Kedavra!’ again.

Ron leapt out of sight to avoid the jet of green light.

The wandless Malfoy cowered behind a three-legged wardrobe as Hermione charged toward them, hitting Goyle with a Stunning Spell as she came.

‘It’s somewhere here!’ Harry yelled at her, pointing at the pile of junk into which the old tiara had fallen. ‘Look for it while I go and help R – ’

“HARRY!” she screamed.

A roaring, billowing noise behind him gave him a moment’s warning. He turned and saw both Ron and Crabbe running as hard as they could up the aisle toward them.

‘Like it hot, scum?’ roared Crabbe as he ran.

But he seemed to have no control over what he had done. Flames of abnormal size were pursuing them, licking up the sides of the junk bulwarks, which were crumbling to soot at their touch.

‘Aguamenti!’ Harry bawled, but the jet of water that soared from the tip of his wand evaporated in the air.

‘RUN!’

Malfoy grabbed the Stunned Goyle and dragged him along; Crabbe outstripped all of them, now looking terrified; Harry, Ron, and Hermione pelted along in his wake, and the fire pursued them.

The fire was mutating, forming a gigantic pack of fiery beasts: flaming serpents, chimaeras, and dragons rose and fell and rose again, and the detritus of centuries on which they were feeding was thrown up in the air into their fanged mouths, tossed high on clawed feet, before being consumed by the inferno.

Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle had vanished from view: Harry, Ron, and Hermione stopped dead; the fiery monsters were circling them, drawing closer and closer, claws and horns and tails lashed, and the heat was solid as a wall around them.

‘Here!’

Harry seized a pair of heavy-looking broomsticks from the nearest pile of junk and threw one to Ron, who pulled Hermione onto it behind him. Harry swung his leg over the second broom and, with hard kicks to the ground, they soared up into the air, missing by feet the horned beak of a flaming raptor that snapped its jaws at them.

Harry squinted his eyes against the heat, but he could not see a trace of Malfoy anywhere: he swooped as low as he dared over the marauding monsters of flame to try to find them, but there was nothing but fire.

‘Harry, let’s get out, let’s get out!’ bellowed Ron, though it was impossible to see where the door was through the black smoke.

Harry got as close to the flames as he could get. The smoke and heat were becoming overwhelming. It burned his skin and made his eyes water.

‘Go!’ Harry shouted. ‘I can’t leave him!’

At that moment they heard a heartrending cry from amidst the terrible thunder of devouring flames.

‘HARRY!’

‘It’s – too – dangerous!’ Ron yelled, but Harry wheeled in the air.

His glasses giving his eyes some small protection from the smoke, he raked the firestorm below, seeking a sign of life, a limb or a face that was not yet charred like wood…

And he saw them: Malfoy with his arms around the unconscious Goyle, the pair of them perched on a fragile tower of charred desks.

Malfoy bent over the edge, seemingly searching within the flames below. ‘Climb up!’ he wailed. ‘Harry!’

Harry dived.

With a scream of relief, Malfoy saw him coming and raised an arm, but even as Harry grasped it he knew at once that it was no good: Goyle was too heavy and Malfoy’s hand, covered in sweat, slid instantly out of Harry’s –

‘IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I’LL KILL YOU, HARRY!’ roared Ron’s voice, and, as a great flaming chimaera bore down upon them, he and Hermione dragged Goyle onto their broom and rose, rolling and pitching, into the air once more as Malfoy clambered up behind Harry.

‘The door, get to the door, the door!’ screamed Malfoy in Harry’s ear, and Harry sped up, following Ron, Hermione, and Goyle through the billowing black smoke, hardly able to breathe: and all around them the last few objects unburned by the devouring flames were flung into the air, as the creatures of the cursed fire cast them high in celebration: cups and shields, a sparkling necklace, and an old, discolored tiara –

‘What are you doing, what are you doing, the door’s that way!’ screamed Malfoy, but Harry made a hairpin swerve and dived. Malfoy hid his face into Harry’s neck.

The diadem seemed to fall in slow motion, turning and glittering as it dropped toward the maw of a yawning serpent, and then he had it, caught it around his wrist –

Harry swerved again as the serpent lunged at Draco and him; he soared upward and straight toward the place where, he prayed, the door stood open.

Ron, Hermione, and Goyle had vanished; Malfoy was screaming and holding Harry so tightly it hurt.

Then, through the smoke, Harry saw a rectangular patch on the wall and steered the broom at it.

Moments later clean air filled his lungs and they collided with the wall in the corridor beyond. Malfoy fell off the broom and lay face down, gasping, coughing, and retching.

Harry rolled over to him, and gasping desperately for breath himself, he swept the sooted, silverblonde hair out of Malfoy’s face. ‘Are you okay? Draco, please, are you okay?’

With some effort Draco managed to nod. ‘Thank you,’ he whispered.

Harry pulled him close. His fingers clutched Draco’s hair and he hid his nose in Malfoy’s neck. Draco made a sound Harry couldn't name, but loved.

‘Not the moment,’ he mumbled as he tried to force himself to let Draco go; to no avail.

‘C’mon, Harry,’ said Ron harshly.

Draco let go, but Harry couldn’t.

‘There’s a war going on,’ he reminded himself sternly. Still, he was holding Draco as if he might otherwise fall.

‘Go,’ whispered Draco. He pushed Harry away. ‘You’re sweaty.’

Finally, Harry was able to let go, but then he saw Draco’s face. He had burn wounds, scars Harry couldn’t remember, and the look in his eyes was exhausted and terrified.

Harry grabbed his chin. ‘ _Please_ stay safe. _Hide_. It’s the Slytherin thing to do.’ He remembered Draco's line at Malfoy Manor’s cellar, and added, ‘Don’t be a hero, save yourself.’

With a tiny smile Draco broke loose from Harry’s hand. ‘Piss off, Potter.’

. . .

‘You need to find out where Voldemort is,’ said Hermione, ‘because he’ll have the snake with him, won’t he? Do it, Harry – look inside him!’

Why was it so easy? Because his scar had been burning for hours, yearning to show him Voldemort’s thoughts? He closed his eyes on her command, and at once, the screams and the bangs and all the discordant sounds of the battle were drowned until they became distant, as though he stood far, far away from them…

‘My Lord,’ said a voice, desperate and cracked.

Voldemort turned: There was Lucius Malfoy sitting in the darkest corner, ragged and still bearing the marks of the punishment he had received after the boy’s last escape. One of his eyes remained closed and puffy.

‘My Lord… please… my son…’

‘If your son is dead, Lucius, it is not my fault. He did not come and join me, like the rest of the Slytherins. Perhaps he has decided to befriend Harry Potter?’

‘Aren’t – aren’t you afraid, my Lord, that Potter might die at another hand but yours?’ asked Malfoy, his voice shaking; and not answering the question, Voldemort noted. ‘Wouldn’t it be… forgive me… more prudent to call off this battle, enter the castle, and seek him y-yourself?’

‘Do not pretend, Lucius. You wish the battle to cease so that you can discover what has happened to your son. And I do not need to seek Potter. Before the night is out, Potter will have come to find me.’

With a gasp, Harry pulled back and opened his eyes; at the same moment his ears were assaulted with the screeches and cries, the smashes and bangs of battle.

‘He’s in the Shrieking Shack. The snake’s with him, it’s got some sort of magical protection around it. He doesn’t think he needs to fight,’ said Harry. ‘He thinks I’m going to go to him.’

‘But why?’

‘He knows I’m after Horcruxes – he’s keeping Nagini close beside him – obviously I’m going to have to go to him to get near the thing. Let’s go!’

Harry, Ron, and Hermione gathered the Cloak tightly around themselves and pelted, heads down, through the midst of the fighters, toward the top of the marble staircase into the Entrance Hall.

‘I’m Draco Malfoy, I’m Draco, I’m on your side!’

Harry turned at once. Draco was on the upper landing – clearly on his way to dungeon, where Harry knew that the best secret hiding places were – pleading with a masked Death Eater.

Harry Stunned the Death Eater as they passed: Malfoy looked around for his saviour, and Ron pushed him from under the Cloak.

‘And that’s the second time we’ve saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!’ Ron yelled.

‘Said with love!’ added Harry, firing a quick kiss charm over his shoulder.

. . .

Nearing the end of the battle, it dawned on Harry that he was not supposed to survive. His job was to walk calmly into Death’s welcoming arms. Along the way, he was to dispose of Voldemort’s remaining links to life, so that when at last he flung himself across Voldemort’s path, and did not raise a wand to defend himself, the end would be clean, and the job that ought to have been done in Godric’s Hollow would be finished: Neither would live, neither could survive.

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak over himself and descended through the floors, at last walking down the marble staircase into the entrance hall. Perhaps some tiny part of him hoped to be sensed, to be seen, to be stopped, but the Cloak was, as ever, impenetrable, perfect, and he reached the front doors easily.

He moved on, and now he reached the edge of the forest. Clutching Draco’s wand, Harry greeted death with open arms.

But death did not greet back.

Harry found himself lying face down on the ground. The smell of the forest filled his nostrils. He could feel the cold hard ground beneath his cheek, and the hinge of his glasses, which had been knocked sideways by the fall, cutting into his temple. Every inch of him ached, and the place where the Killing Curse had hit him felt like the bruise of an iron-clad punch.

He did not stir, but remained exactly where he had fallen, with his left arm bent out at an awkward angle and his mouth gaping.

Harry opened his eyes by a millimetre. He saw Lucius Malfoy, who looked defeated and terrified, and Narcissa, whose eyes were sunken and full of apprehension.

‘You,’ said Voldemort, and there was a bang and a small shriek of pain. ‘Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.’

Harry could only lie there, with his heart thumping traitorously, and wait to be examined.

Hands, softer than he had been expecting, touched Harry’s face, pulled back an eyelid, crept beneath his shirt, down to his chest, and felt his heart.

He could hear the woman’s fast breathing, her long hair tickled his face. He knew that she could feel the steady pounding of life against his ribs.

‘Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?’

The whisper was barely audible; her lips were an inch from his ear, her head bent so low that her long hair shielded his face from the onlookers.

‘Yes,’ he breathed back.

He felt the hand on his chest contract; her nails pierced him. Then it was withdrawn. She had sat up.

‘He is dead!’ Narcissa Malfoy called to the watchers.

And now they shouted, now they yelled in triumph and stamped their feet, and through his eyelids, Harry saw bursts of red and silver light shoot into the air in celebration. Still feigning death on the ground, he understood. Narcissa knew that the only way she would be permitted to enter Hogwarts, and find her son, was as part of the conquering army. She no longer cared whether Voldemort won.

‘Now,’ said Voldemort, ‘we go to the castle, and show them what has become of their hero. Who shall drag the body? No – Wait – ’

There was a fresh outbreak of laughter, and after a few moments Harry felt the ground trembling beneath him.

‘You carry him,’ Voldemort said. ‘He will be nice and visible in your arms, will he not? Pick up your little friend, Hagrid.’

Harry could feel Hagrid’s arms trembling with the force of his heaving sobs; great tears splashed down upon him as Hagrid cradled Harry in his arms, and Harry did not dare, by movement or word, to intimate to Hagrid that all was not, yet, lost.

‘Move,’ said Voldemort, and Hagrid stumbled forward, forcing his way through the close-growing trees, back through the forest. Branches caught at Harry’s hair and robes, but he lay quiescent, his mouth lolling open, his eyes shut, and in the darkness, while the Death Eaters crowed all around them, and while Hagrid sobbed blindly, nobody looked to see whether a pulse beat in the exposed neck of Harry Potter…

‘Stop.’

The Death Eaters came to a halt: Harry heard them spreading out in a line facing the open front doors of the school. He could see, even through his closed lids, the reddish glow that meant light streamed upon him from the entrance hall. He waited. Any moment, the people for whom he had tried to die would see him, lying apparently dead, in Hagrid’s arms.

‘It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!’

Harry felt himself lowered onto the grass. He squinted for a single second and saw the open doorway filling with people, as the survivors of the battle came out onto the front steps to face their vanquishers and see the truth of Harry’s death for themselves.

‘NO!’

‘No!’

‘Harry! HARRY!’

Then, many things happened at the same moment.

They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the outofsight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries.

At the same time, Grawp came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, ‘HAGGER!’

His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: They ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise.

Harry pulled the Invisibility Cloak from inside his robes, swung it over himself, and sprang to his feet.

Chaos reigned. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet. The wizards, defenders of Hogwarts and Death Eaters alike, were being forced back into the castle. Harry was shooting jinxes and curses at any Death Eater he could see, and they crumpled, not knowing what or who had hit them, and their bodies were trampled by the retreating crowd.

Still hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, Harry was buffeted into the entrance hall. He was searching for Voldemort and saw him across the room, firing spells from his wand as he backed into the Great Hall, still screaming instructions to his followers as he sent curses flying left and right.

Harry saw Ron and Neville bringing down Fenrir Greyback; Aberforth Stunning Rookwood; Arthur and Percy flooring Thicknesse; and Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy running through the crowd, wandless, not even attempting to fight, screaming for their son. It enabled Harry to focus solely on defeating Voldemort.

Then, Voldemort raised his wand and directed it at Molly Weasley.

‘Protego!’ roared Harry, and the Shield Charm expanded in the middle of the Hall.

Voldemort stared around for the source as Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak at last.

The yell of shock, the cheers, the screams on every side of ‘Harry!’ ‘HE’S ALIVE!’ were stifled at once. The crowd was afraid, and silence fell abruptly and completely as Voldemort and Harry looked at each other, and began, at the same moment, to circle each other.

‘I don’t want anyone else to try to help,’ Harry said loudly, and in the total silence his voice carried like a trumpet call. ‘It’s got to be like this. It’s got to be me.’

Voldemort’s hand was trembling on the Elder Wand, and Harry gripped Draco’s very tightly.

‘That wand still isn’t working properly for you,’ Harry remarked. ‘Because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. The Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world’s most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance…’

Voldemort’s chest rose and fell rapidly, and Harry could feel the curse coming, feel it building inside the wand pointed at his face.

‘The true master of the Elder Wand,’ Harry’s heart swelled with pride, ‘was Draco Malfoy.’

Blank shock showed in Voldemort’s face for a moment, but then it was gone.

‘What does it matter?’ he said softly. ‘Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone… and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…’

‘You’re too late!’ said Harry rapidly. ‘You’ve missed your chance. I got there first. I took Draco’s wand from him weeks ago. Or rather: he gave it to me voluntarily.’

Harry twitched the hawthorn wand, and he felt the eyes of everyone in the Hall upon it.

‘So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?’ whispered Harry. ‘Does the wand in your hand know its last master bestowed it? Because if it does… _I_ am the true master of the Elder Wand. And all of that thanks to _Draco Malfoy_.’ Harry wanted everyone to remember that name. ‘Again, it seems love beat you.’

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur.

Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand.

‘Avada Kedavra!’

‘Expelliarmus!’

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided.

Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last.

And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward.

Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing.

Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended – and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him.

The first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last –

Suddenly, something made the crowd curb their cheers. Heads turned, arms loosened. Something made the horde shuffle.

Then, above all noise, one voice was clear: ‘Draco, get back here!’

Harry’s heart skipped a beat. When he saw the silver blonde head move through the crowd, his breathing stopped entirely.

Draco Malfoy didn’t look up as he elbowed his way through the mass of people. As soon as his steel grey eyes fell on Harry’s bloodied, messy jeans, it seemed as if his legs gave up on him. With a dull, echoing thud, his knees hit the floor; right in front of Harry. Right in front of the entire wizarding world.

‘Draco?’ Harry moved to help him up, but at last, Malfoy looked into Harry’s eyes – and Harry backed away, startled.

Draco Malfoy’s eyes were filled to the brim with remorse. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

‘No, stop,’ Harry softly said, grabbing Malfoy’s arms, but he refused to get up.

‘I am so, so sorry.’ Draco's voice broke. ‘How can I… _ever_ –…’

Harry knelt down to stroke the hair out of his boy’s face. ‘You have! You already have, dramatic git – ’

‘You can start by apologizing to us!’ Next to them, Ron was pointing at himself and Hermione.

As Harry watched their haughty faces, he felt himself smiling. His gaze shot back to Draco and he laughed seeing his scowl.

Malfoy checked with Harry, who stepped aside and motioned to his friends.

With glaring effort, Draco took a deep breath, looked from Harry to Ron and Hermione, and uttered: ‘I’m sorry. I’ve… been a prat. I– I _am_ sorry.’

Trying their best not to gloat, Hermione and Ron shrugged for a bit.

‘ – It’s alright,’ Hermione mumbled.

‘ – Prat’s understated,’ grumbled Ron.

Harry snorted and used the last bit of his strength to haul Draco on his feet against his wishes.

‘Stop making an arse of yourself, I love you as a prat.’ He pushed him back to his parents. ‘Bugger off, we’ll talk later.’

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. Harry was an indispensable part of the mingled outpourings of jubilation and mourning, of grief and celebration. They wanted him there with them, their leader and symbol, their saviour and their guide, and that he had not slept, that he craved the company of only a few of them, seemed to occur to no one. He must speak to the bereaved, clasp their hands, witness their tears, receive their thanks.

After a while, exhausted and drained, Harry could finally move through the Hall without interference. He spotted Ginny two tables away; she was sitting with her head on her mother’s shoulder. He saw Neville, the sword of Gryffindor lying beside his plate as he ate, surrounded by a knot of fervent admirers. Along the aisle between the tables he spotted the three Malfoys, huddled together as though unsure whether or not they were supposed to be there, but nobody was paying them any attention.

Harry didn’t walk so much as drag himself over to Draco, who noticed him coming and jumped closer to catch him. Harry wasn’t sure exactly who caught who or who collapsed into who’s arms – they appeared to keep each other’s balance, like cards in a card house. Draco leaned on his arms around Harry’s waist; Harry’s head lay on Draco’s shoulder, his arms just dangling down, all energy drained from them.

After standing like that for what felt like ages – and savouring every second of it – Draco reached down to take Harry’s hands. He lead them to a table on the side, a little away from the crowd, and Harry flopped down on top of it, laying his head on Draco’s shoulder as soon as he could.

‘Is it finally over?’ he whispered.

‘I don’t know,’ Draco mumbled. ‘We’re scared to go home.’

Harry wrapped himself around his wonderful boy and one by one, he felt every one of his muscles relax.

‘We _are_ home,’ he whispered.

Draco took his own wand back from Harry and started to wordlessly patch him up. Blood disappeared from Harry’s clothes, tears sewed themselves together, cuts and scratches stopped throbbing, bruises cleared up…

‘Potter!’

Harry woke up with a shock. He felt like he’d been off the world for hours, but somehow still found himself at the Great Hall, where the same people were still standing around.

‘You weren’t _sleeping_?’

‘Not anymore, prick.’ Harry looked up to prove it, and drifted away in Draco’s misty grey eyes.

As Draco brushed the hair off Harry’s forehead, Harry closed his eyes again.

‘I’m so proud,’ whispered Draco.

It made Harry feel all fizzy.

‘I’m so tired,’ he whispered back.

‘No! Wake up, Harry,’ nagged Draco, so Harry hauled is eyelids up again.

‘What?’ Harry breathed sleepily.

‘Potter, do you like me?’ Draco asked.

Groaning, Harry pressed a hand on Draco’s leg to heave himself upwards and give his friend a proper look. To his astonishment, Malfoy appeared to be serious. 

‘Yes,’ Harry answered, feeling like it was somehow a trick question, or that he didn’t understand it right.

‘Well, you should probably know,’ declared Draco, ‘that I – that I am in love with you, Harry Potter. Have been since third year. I know, “get in line”, but there you have it.’

Harry was beaming. He felt much more awake all of a sudden. ‘Since third year?’ he wondered out loud. ‘A specific moment in third year?’

Draco narrowed his eyes. ‘If you must know… it was after your colossal Patronus floored me. I’d never felt anything like, and it made me – Well, I felt it for weeks.’

‘What, bruises?’

Draco touched the dimple between Harry’s collarbones. ‘No, nincompoop. Your Patronus. The after effects.’

‘There are no – ’

‘Yes, I know that _now_ – but it made me feel weird, Potter, I’d felt your happiness and love when it slammed me to the ground. And that lovely bear hug you gave me did not help.’

Harry bit in Draco’s ear, but Draco pushed him away, looking at him suspiciously. ‘Don’t you think I’m too _bony_?’

Harry laughed like he hadn’t laughed in a long, long time.

‘Everyone’s always complaining about my bones sticking out.’

‘I think you’re perfect,’ Harry simply said.

Draco leaned close to him. ‘You should know there’s other things too…’

Harry leaned closer still. ‘What other things?’

‘I’ve… done some stuff.’

Harry started smiling, but tried to frown. ‘Did you now? You little rascal…’

‘A while ago, I got in with the wrong crowd,’ Draco whispered. ‘Oh Harry, they even made me get a matching tattoo, I’m so embarrassed… It’s not even aesthetically pleasing. It completely fails to catch my essence.’

Harry hung his head in his neck from laughing. 

‘They made me feel so great at first,’ Draco continued. ‘Tough, cool, in control – until I found myself with no way out anymore… and they – Oh, it’s all such a horrible cliché, Potter, I’m utterly disappointed that I fell for it, but they could do with me as they pleased all of a sudden. I’m a sucker for admiration.’

‘I admire you.’ Harry sighed.

At once, Draco’s jeering mask vanished and he hid his head in his hands. His voice dropped to a whisper: ‘How can you like me?’

Harry pulled Draco’s hand away from his face. ‘A wise man once said,’ he recalled, ‘that there is a person behind the arm, you know.’ He grinned broadly, not being able to stop himself from feeling happy. He picked up Draco’s chin. ‘You’re so much more than those matching tattoos, Dra, so much more than those things you had to do to survive. And you know _I’m_ not – ’ Harry looked at the scars his Sectumsempra spell left all over Draco’s skin. He traced one lightly.

‘Oh stop it, Harry, that was something else entirely.’

Harry let go of Draco, looking away. ‘Alright, go pity yourself, if that’s the hill you want to die on. I am not going to fight you on who’s a worse person, Dra.’

‘Scared of losing!’ Malfoy jeered.

Harry hid a grin. Looking like that, Draco seemed almost completely normal again. For some reason it reminded Harry of their first kiss back at the Room of Requirements.

'We can get new matching tattoos.' Harry beamed.

Draco smirked. 'Yes, of crimson and clover...'

Harry blinked at him. 'Yeah, sure, something like that.'

Draco looked aside at him. 'Oh no, don't tell me you don't know.'

'What?'

'It's like you've lived on entirely different plane of existence all these years! How did we even meet? You have been staring yourself so blind on this You-Know-Who project that you don't know our very own code name?'

'A-... A code name? Like spies?'

'The teachers,' said Draco, sounding exasperated. 'They called us Crimson and Clover, so they could talk about us behind our backs. The bastards. Pansy found out in second year and she told me. I've heard other people use it too, even Hufflepuffs... I pretended I didn't know so I could eavesdrop. People can be very mean, Potter. Apparently we were tiring and annoying, sometimes cute - I don't know which is worse to be honest. I can't believe they hid it from you. McGonagall came up with it in our very first year, when you lured me to the astronomy tower to see the dragon. Snape used it to tease me all the time.'

Harry's insides were shaking. This was amazing and embarrassing. He didn't know what to do with the information, so he changed the subject.

‘Boy oh boy…’ Harry sighed. ‘How many Dark Lords do I have to defeat to get a kiss around here?’

Draco stared at him. He glanced around at everyone in the Great Hall. ‘Potter,’ he uttered. ‘People died. My – ’ His voice broke. He tried again. ‘My friend died.’

Harry’s face clouded over. He pressed his eyes close to stop himself from looking at the Weasleys. Suddenly the tiredness fell back over him. He slouched against Draco’s shoulder, and felt his fingers between Harry’s like it was as natural as breathing. Their heads touched.

‘So what are you saying?’ Harry asked. ‘You’re not in the mood? Or is it “bad form”?’

Draco kept stroking Harry’s hair out of his face, even though it fell right back.

‘I don’t understand you,’ he said. ‘You’re not supposed to want that sort of thing right now. Especially not with me.’

‘I think I can decide that for myself, thanks,’ replied Harry.

Draco snorted. ‘True…’

Then he looked away and stopped touching Harry’s face, allowing the rosy fog in Harry’s head to clear, enabling him to think.

‘You’ve been cruel to me,’ Harry said.

Draco flinched.

‘You seemed to enjoy it too,’ Harry added softly, pulling his hands away from Malfoy as the memories started flooding his mind.

‘I – ’ Draco stammered, looking at Harry with those same remorse-filled eyes as earlier. ‘I was very angry.’

‘With the world?’

‘With– with you.’

Harry was taken aback.

‘I thought you were playing with me, leading me on. You weren’t even talking to me anymore at the end of fourth year. I felt like you were ghosting me; that you were done with me, but didn’t care enough to tell me. I feared you didn’t consider what we had anything serious to begin with; convinced myself you did things like that with all sorts of people – being Harry Potter and all… My mind was a mess, and people kept taking advantage of it too, trying to prove that you had a bad influence on me. That it was a good thing you dumped me, because you dragged me down to your… your low level of blood-traitors, Muggle-lovers and Mudbloods. My parents said our paths did not overlap and I should focus my attention on people who were right for me, who appreciated me without the need to change me into a muggle-loving blood-traitor. Only Pansy and Blaise kept hammering me to talk to you, but… I didn’t want to. I refused to admit – …’ Draco looked down at his hands. ‘I believed you didn’t care.’

Harry was listening to this with increasingly wider eyes. ‘But… You said…’

Draco nodded. ‘I said a lot. Lots of things to convince myself. One moment I could make a fiery argument, and the next I fought everyone who agreed with me. And it all got so much more complicated because of my dad and his Dark Mark. Everyone around me was so angry and so scared of you. They helped me convince myself that I’d been wrong about you, that it had been my rose-coloured glasses thinking you were… you weren’t… I don’t know. I mean, if you were right, that meant everyone I knew was wrong – and that I was wrong. I didn’t believe that. I couldn’t.’ Draco glanced at Harry. ‘My parents are nice people, Harry, fun and sweet and they’ve never hurt me once in my life. I’m still wrapping my head around… the things they did. I don’t understand how they – how they can be both good _and_ bad. Or how I can be.’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve been so confused, Harry, about so many things. At the back of my mind I always considered it a terrible idea to befriend you, but I was… so darn proud – I mean, the famous Harry Potter paid attention to _me_. But even before I knew you were famous… you confused me so, Potter. When we just met I thought you were worthless, connection-wise I mean. Father always told me I should only befriend people who could help me get where I want to be, that I should not waste my time on Hogwarts fiddling around with the wrong sort. And _you_ didn’t know anything about anything and you clearly didn’t care about networking either. You befriended Gamekeepers and Weasleys and Mud–… Muggleborns. Yet I kept hoping to see you at the station and in the train.’

‘You came looking for me,’ Harry said, smiling.

‘Yes, I wanted to see you. I kind of… wanted to make sure you were okay.’ A bashful smile showed Harry yet another side of his boy. ‘But then suddenly you were Harry Potter, the most famous person in the entire country. Making you go from an completely worthless connection to the top most important person to befriend. All of a sudden I was actually allowed to like you – and it scared me.’ Draco laughed nervously. ‘Up to that point I’d believed I was way better than you in every possible way, but at once you were way better than me. I was afraid I’d lost my chance. I’d been such a wise-ass to you, and you were befriending a _Weasley_ , proving you wouldn’t like _me_ at all. Weasleys and Malfoys couldn’t be more opposite. Also, I somehow knew – even though they never told me – that there was something my parents did not like about you. Something was off about you, but I didn’t know what. I don’t know how to explain, but all through those first three years, my mind and my heart kept switching sides, they never agreed, not even with themselves. I liked you so much, Potter. I worked so much harder, became so much better, because of you. You still kept beating me at everything though, and even when I won, I felt like I lost – because I lost you. I was constantly torn between my own ego or my friend Potter.’

Harry frowned. It had never felt like that to him.

‘The weird thing was,’ said Draco slowly, ‘whatever I chose, I somehow never actually lost you, even when I was convinced I did.’ Deep, confused wrinkles ran over his forehead. ‘I couldn’t wrap my head around you. Still can’t.’

Suddenly Malfoy’s eyes found Harry’s and he had that rare, soft expression on his face. ‘That _note_ , Harry, you absolutely killed me with that note. When you’d put that snitch in my pocket on the train home.’

Harry remembered the note and felt his face burn. He tried to hide it by pulling his hair over his forehead. 

Sighing loudly, Malfoy lay his head in his neck. ‘There was not one second that summer that I wasn’t thinking about you. About those clover eyes underneath your dark lashes, your filthy, oversized muggle clothes, your slow, sleepy way of talking, or the way – _merde…_ – the way you polished that broomstick. I don’t even know how I forced myself to stay home or kept myself from inviting you over, or write to you as soon as I got home. You absolutely brutally murdered me with those two words. _I’m yours_ … Oh, and it was so unclear! I had no clue how serious you meant it!’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Harry whispered, feeling very awkward. ‘I didn’t know either.’

‘You know, I…’ Draco inspected his feet like there was something interesting about them. ‘I think I was so mean to you in fifth year, because…’ He took a breath. ‘Because I wanted to see if it would hurt you. I couldn’t _bear_ the thought that you felt indifferent about me; that it didn’t mean a thing to you that we weren’t friends anymore. When I got to you – really got to you – it felt like getting a shot of heroin. When your voice broke, when you screamed, when your face showed any emotion about me at all – for a few moments I _felt_ that you cared. That I belonged, in some form, in your heart.’

Harry didn’t know what to think about that. ‘I literally screamed that I was in love with you,’ he snapped.

‘Yes… that was some high,’ Draco whispered, smiling faintly.

‘You should’ve talked to me, Dra! You _cannot_ do this to a person! If you’d just asked – !’

‘I know, obviously, I know _now_! It wasn’t so easy though, there was still a war going on; we were still dangerous to each other, even _if_ we were best pals – _especially_ then!’

‘I don’t know.’ Harry crossed his arms. ‘You said I’m not subtle, you said I wasn’t fooling anyone. You knew perfectly well how much I loved you and still you were cruel to me.’

Draco seized Harry’s hand and bent himself in a uncomfortable shape to look into his eyes. ‘It was dangerous, Potter. I needed to hate you, and I needed _you_ to hate _me_! Harry, please?’

Harry gave up looking away and allowed Draco’s eyes to soften him enough to be kneaded.

‘I am so sorry,’ Draco uttered. ‘I feel terrible about it. I might even argue that it has made me feel worse than it ever could’ve made you feel. As it should, I might add!’

Groaning, Harry massaged his temples, trying to make sense of it all. He felt like laughing at Draco’s pretty words and the dramatic way he delivered them, but he was reminded too painfully of all the hurt Draco caused him throughout the years.

‘So, in summary,’ Harry said, frowning. ‘Your family didn’t approve of me; I wasn’t good enough for you, but also somehow too good for you; you didn’t know if you liked me; you didn’t know if I liked you; we were actively turned against each other by our friends and families; and our friendship could’ve been used in strategies to murder us in a war… Wow, that doesn’t sound complex at all.’

Malfoy sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees, and with a tiny, jeering smile he looked aside at Harry. ‘I reckon that’s not even half the complexity of it all. There’s also the scarring, the emotional trauma, the social-economical distance... But yeah… it’s a start, I suppose.’

‘Well then,’ Harry seized Draco’s hand yet again and stared defiantly into his eyes. ‘To be absolutely clear, and take away all misunderstanding: I, Harry Potter, love you, Draco Malfoy, very much. The most of all. I have no other loves, nor have I ever had any. I am in love with you and have been since the day we met, almost seven years ago, and I have long since passed the point of being scared to show it to the world. Any other doubts I need to address?’

‘Do you forgive me?’ asked Draco softly.

‘Be specific, Draconius, forgive you for what?’

‘Oh…’ Worry clouded over Draco’s face. ‘What don’t you forgive me for? Or– or… is it too much?’

Glancing from Draco’s right eye to his left, Harry thought about it. Malfoy’s explanations had cleared up a lot.

‘I do not forgive you for Buckbeak,’ Harry admitted at last. ‘And I do not forgive your father for anything.’

Draco nodded. ‘Yeah, alright. That’s– that’s fair. Only that’s like… one percent of all the nastiness I pulled.’

Harry narrowed his eyes. ‘I wasn’t aware there was a benchmark.’

Draco snorted, which turned into a nervous laugh. ‘I don’t know how this works. Do I have to convince you to forgive me somehow? Should I apologize again?’

‘I’ve no clue. Let’s leave it, at least for now. Do you forgive me?’

The answer came at once: ‘I do, yeah. I should never have blamed you for anything in the first place. I’ve been so blind.’

Harry felt more relieved than he expected to be. ‘Even for the–?’ He didn’t dare say the word Sectumsepra anymore, it was too heavy. ‘ – the curse? The scars?’

Draco looked at him with wide eyes. ‘Love, yes. We talked about this. You were trying out a spell, the way we always did, and I was horrible to you. I tried to torture you.’

‘I still feel bad.’

‘ _I_ still feel bad.’

‘Right…’ Harry’s mind overflowed with memories. ‘O-oh, a-and Draco?’

His voice gave up on him. Draco frowned. ‘Potter…?’

Harry pulled it together. ‘Please don’t ever shout at me the way you did in that coach. It scared me. And whenever you doubt my feelings for you, you ask me, okay? Even if it is super awkward for everyone around, alright?’

Draco’s mouth opened and closed a few times. Finally, he asked: ‘You talk like… we have a future.’

‘Don’t you want me in your future?’

‘Yes! No, yes, I do! I do, I do! I do.’

Harry grinned. ‘So that’s affirmative then?’

Draco hid his smiling face behind his hands. ‘Oh, piss off, Potter.’

Harry laughed.

With a sigh, Malfoy sat up straight and looked at Harry all serious again. Harry wished he’d go back to normal again soon.

‘Harry, I want you to know that with everyone in my life I’ve got _some_ reservation, some side of me I can’t show them – but I do not have it with you. I can do whatever I want when I’m with my fearless Gryffindor, and you won’t ever think any less of me as a person, no matter what I do or say. I don’t understand that at all, but I want you to know that I treasure it.’

Harry grinned at the wonderful words, and squeezed Draco’s hand. ‘I feel the same way, babe.’

Lowering his eyes, Draco traced a finger over the lines in Harry’s hand. He looked happy.

Harry used his nose to lift Draco’s face. ‘And now, Mister Malfoy, I require comforting.’

Smirking, Draco straightened his back. His eyes darted over Harry’s lips. ‘Want me to line up the fans?’ he whispered. ‘Plenty of admirers eager to snog – ’

Impatiently, Harry tried to kiss him, but Draco kept inching slightly out of Harry’s reach, until Harry noticed and closed his eyes laughing.

Harry felt Draco’s lips feathery light against his own, ‘ – wonderful Saint Potter.’

When Draco planted the tiniest, fluttery kiss on Harry’s bottom lip it made every cell in Harrys body feel like goo. Wrapping his legs tightly around him, he felt around for Draco’s face and pulled him close to messily kiss his brilliantly noisy mouth. 

Several people wolf-whistled, but Harry hardly heard.

Draco leaned his hand on Harry’s hip and kissed like he’d never done before: he took his time rediscovering Harry, playfully dropping kisses and then pulling away, while Harry kept wanting to close the distance, biting Draco’s lip and feeling for his tongue whenever he got the chance.

‘Highly inappropriate,’ muttered Malfoy.

Harry didn’t care one bit. Personally ending a war ought to grant the two of them some privileges, he thought.

When he tucked his hands under Draco’s shirt – something he’d been fantasizing about for months – Draco finally closed his eyes and let out an undeniable moan. As Harry pressed his fingers into the pale, scarred skin, Draco grabbed Harry’s scarred face and pressed kiss after kiss after kiss on his lips.

Life had never been so beautiful.

All was well.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> This fic was a bit of a bitch to make and I appreciate every single one of you "if you have stuck with Harry until the very end."
> 
> Please leave a comment, even if it's one word or an emoji I'd treasure it forever! 
> 
> My Drarry Tumblr is [ @Fanarthasmyheart ](https://fanarthasmyheart.tumblr.com/) in case you want to reach out to me on there.  
> I'm currently writing this story from Draco's point of view. [ It's called Roll and fall in green, and you can read it here. ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178511/chapters/63702085)
> 
> LOVE YOU


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